


Bedside Story

by Bardwich



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Broken Engagement, Drinking, Dueling, Edward Survives, Engagement, Exes, F/F, F/M, Fake Enemies, First Love, Forbidden Love, Injury, Kissing, Lots of kissing, Love, M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, Pining, Plotting, Recovery from injury, Secret Relationship, Shooting Guns, Smoking, assassination attempt, duel, historical research was attempted, inspired by real historical figures but it is fiction, mild descriptions of the injury and one gory moment at the end, poor Drums has to get better, scheming for love, spot of underage drinking but it's nothing, there will be sex but nothing graphic, threat, very vague historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardwich/pseuds/Bardwich
Summary: Edward Drummond is not living his best days after he takes a bullet for Sir Robert Peel. Life does not stop and his marriage approaches much sooner than he would like (which is never). How will he get out of his engagement, get together with his true love, Lord Alfred, and ensure the vengeful Lord Lothian never threatens him again? All while he is limited to his bedroom while he recovers from his near-fatal wound. As an old friend returns from overseas, an elaborate plot is woven and more shots may be fired.
Relationships: Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha/Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901), Alfred Paget (1816-1888)/William Peel (1824-1858), Charlotte Paget Marchioness of Anglesey/Henry Paget 1st Marquess of Anglesey, Edward Drummond (1792-1843)/Alfred Paget (1816-1888), Edward Drummond (1792-1843)/Florence (Victoria)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 29





	1. Attempt to Assassinate Mr Edward Drummond Sir R. Peel’s Private Secretary

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this will be a long fic of about 13-16 chapters. We start with poor Drums as he recovers, but as strings are pulled, there will be some exciting and downright reckless events taking place, so fear not. Edward may be confined to his bed for now, but he'll get better and better every day, particularly as he and Alfred start plotting his escape from the trap of a loveless marriage.
> 
> History was researched and disregarded only for the sake of the plot. This ain't a real book, it's fanfic, you're here to see your faves get kissy and have their happy ending. I am here to put obstacles in their way. (SORRY.) Original characters may be familiar from my other works. We're sticking with our OCs, we love them. They're mine and they would nag me forever if I left them out of the fun.
> 
> The chapter headlines and newspaper snippets are taken almost verbatim from real articles and the McNaughton trial records. The idea is that original sentences or passages shouldn't stick out - did my best, I hope.
> 
> Disclaimer: don't use guns, guns are bad......... but damn, I like a sexy duel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward Drummond had an engagement. No, he had an engagement he was going to get out of, AND he had a dinner engagement with the gorgeous Lord Alfred he definitely did not want to jilt. He is fighting for his life, literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream hopping anyone? This starts out grim, I know, but, he'll get there. Peachier and peachier every day, I promise. For now, though, sorry, Drums, you've been hit by, you've been struck by a (not so smooth) criminal. xx
> 
> Dedicated to the lovely and talented @SheoftheBookandSong for bearing with me while I've been working on this for the past month and a half. All those things I've moaned about will finally make sense! Plus, lots of gratuitous Drums. Can't have enough of that boy, eh?

_“Yesterday afternoon, a most determined attempt was made to assassinate Mr Drummond, the Private Secretary of Sir Robert Peel, in the open street, and in the broad face of day. The motives of the assassin are at present involved in mystery, not the slightest clue being yet obtained to the cause that could have impelled him to the commission of so aggravated a crime. But, whatever may have been the reasons influencing his mind, it will be seen from the subjoined account, that his purpose was carried out with the most cold-blooded determination, though, fortunately, no fatal results are at present expected to accrue from the wound which he succeeded in inflicting on the victim.”_

It happened so fast. One moment, he was shaking Sir Robert’s hand, the next, a scream, and the world went black.

Perhaps the greatest scientific experts of the day would have been able to account for what happened next. Perhaps a vicar would have. It was a fact for Edward Drummond, in any case, he was aware (but let us admit it, mostly quite, quite unaware) of his world consisting of just one memory. This one memory seemed to be so strongly at the forefront of his mind that it was the only scene playing for him over and over again, making itself more and more incredible and comforting with each rerun, while he was otherwise more than a little indisposed. It was as if it offered itself up as a thin but strong thread on which to hang his whole life. One memory, one sentiment, one person.

Lord Alfred.

It was in Scotland, from where they had just returned to London, the grim, grey capital. Drummond had once looked with pride and self-assuredness upon Westminster from the window of his spacious office outside that of the Prime Minister himself. His chest always swelled with self-importance at his fortune. He was content, enjoyed the safety of significant wealth, a comfortable townhouse in Mayfair, and agreements that assured his smooth sailing onwards and upwards. However, after that one heavenly time in Scotland, he noticed nothing of London but the stifling, suffocating smoke and soot that engulfed this wretched place in a blinding stew that was swallowing him up more and more each passing day.

Perhaps it was better this way, a voice suggested, particularly in moments in which he felt even that dim vision slipping away. He would have a chance to say goodbye to the man he loved, even if it was in spirit. And then he would let go of all his worries, most of all that he would lose Lord Alfred. His only regret was that it would be Alfred who would lose _him_.

But how joyous that memory was!

‘These midsummer evenings are so enchanting, don’t you think?’

Show him one person on Earth that could have stood not kissing the splendid Lord Alfred right then and there! As soon as he had done it, he just knew. Of course, he agonised, frightened at his own actions, out in the daylight. But did that stop him from wanting more of that heavenly jolt of pleasure? The heck did it.

To his immense relief, Lord Alfred was not offended. Far from it. Basking in the warm rays of the setting sun, he stayed exactly where he was, in Drummond’s arms, pressed up against him, even rubbing his nose against his so sweetly Drummond had to laugh out loud.

Naturally, they were soon disturbed by the highlanders leaving the forest dance and coming out there for a swim or simply to stagger back towards the castle. That was the only reason why Lord Alfred stepped a trifle away.

‘Oh, dear,’ he said when he picked up his frock coat from the Hercules statue by the lake, where they had left both of theirs. ‘I must revisit our steps with haste. I seem to have dropped my cravat somewhere.’

But then, he set off towards the castle rather than the trees.

‘Should you discover it, Drummond,’ he added just before he really left, ‘Perhaps you might return it to me? My room is at the very end of the men’s corridor. My door will be open for you.’

Drummond was slow. For all his education and his brilliance when it came to politics and debates, Alfred was gone by the time he realised that the lord cared nothing about his cravat but everything about inviting Drummond into his bedroom.

His suspicions were confirmed when he found the cravat stuffed securely in the pocket of his own frock coat, surely planted there on purpose.

He retired to his own bedchamber and threw off his garments, which had got soaked from sweat during what he could only describe as frolicking with Alfred. He washed, splashing his face with extra cold water again and again to revive his sense and reason, which he hoped were still lurking somewhere behind his blinding excitement and giddiness. He took a good look in the mirror, not to check that his hair was as wild as his heart, but to give himself a chance for some kind of recognition. _Edward Drummond, you are a fine young man of great intelligence. You know better._

Nevertheless, he soon found himself hesitating outside Lord Alfred’s bedroom anyway.

 _What should he do?_ he agonised. What was the custom? _Was_ there a custom? He didn’t want to make a mess of this. What was appropriate? Well, he left propriety well behind him as soon as he had stepped into the corridor, that, he knew. But now that he was there, what was the etiquette? Should he knock? Should he just slip in? “ _My room will be open for you_.” God, whatever did that mean? Or did it simply mean that the door was open and nothing more? Perhaps Lord Alfred was just really fond of this particular cravat. Was Drummond miles ahead of where he was supposed to be? He did have such obscene dreams sometimes, which made him feel like a terrible friend to Lord Alfred, but then were they really friends? Did friends kiss like that? He knew women sometimes shared a bed with their friends when the house was full with guests. Why shouldn’t he pay a call to his gentleman friend in the middle of the night in incomplete attire? No one seemed to find it strange when his sister had to share and she never complained, even though she usually despised her privacy intruded upon in general.

Right, mayhap that was because that was women and convenience and chastity. This was the opposite of that. This was madness! _Should_ he knock? Perhaps he should have just turned around and forgotten about this—

The decision was made for him when the door opened and he was pulled into the bedroom by the collars of his dressing gown. Edward’s back hit the wood with a soft thud. Meanwhile Lord Alfred also swiftly turned the key in the latch and pressed his warm lips against Edward’s along with his whole body, which was clad only in the thin silk of his nightshirt.

Despite his surprise, Edward acted instinctively, and his hands soon found delightful places to rest on Alfred’s back, holding him yet closer, flush against him, exactly as he had dreamed of embarrassingly many times.

Alfred couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled away just to take in Drummond’s sight.

‘I am so glad,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never come!’

Drummond smiled, too. ‘Of course, I came. I found your cravat.’

‘Did you?’ Alfred responded, faking complete innocence and surprise. ‘I wonder where I dropped it. My hero!’

‘Oh, but,’ Drummond realised stupidly, ‘I forgot to bring it.’

His eyelids fell closed as he mentally berated himself for his obvious mistake. Lord Alfred simply laughed.

‘It’s yours. Wear it. And think of me when you do,’ he said. Then, with a glint of mischief in his eyes, he took Drummond’s hands and tugged. ‘Come. We’ve not a minute to waste.’

As dizzy and, frankly, ditsy as Drummond was from all this, his feet remained instinctively stuck to the floor as he realised that Lord Alfred was pulling him towards his bed.

 _‘Mind the door!’_ someone shouted, perhaps on the lawn outside?

‘Ow!’ Drummond yelped as the sensation of a stomped toe aggravated him, though there was no sharp furniture corner near his feet.

Alfred’s brows twitched in a frown for just a split second. He was still looking at Drummond expectantly, whether for him or for answers, or both, Drummond could not tell, but he felt mortified, unprepared, and incredibly flustered.

‘I-I-I, uh… just… um,’ he fumbled, therefore.

The room felt like furnace. Though he had no mind to leave, he glanced at the locked door and wished the windows were opened up. He also realised Alfred’s chest was in full view as he had failed to button up his nightshirt completely – not that its thin fabric left anything to the imagination. He had seen him unclad before, when they swam in France, but he had not been allowed to look or to touch, not in the way he desired. Wait, was he allowed to do all that now? Why did the thought scare him as much as it delighted him?

Edward tore his gaze away to collect himself.

‘Please do not misunderstand… I am… I am glad also… but I… Well, when I had determined to come, I… I just thought… God, we are leaving for London so soon in the morning, and I couldn’t possibly face the night knowing… I can’t bear to waste these precious hours… But, please, do not presume I… that I presumed that we… that I was presumptuous, that we… that is to say…’

‘Perhaps a sip of water?’ Lord Alfred offered smoothly.

His deep, velvety voice was so calm and soothing. Drummond was ever so glad of it. Feeling already grounded, he nodded, and after he had had a sip of water, he felt more like himself indeed.

‘Better?’

Drummond nodded but the silence in the dim room still felt deafening. He was sure Alfred could positively hear his heart hammering its beats against his chest. It really was like feet drumming on the ground around him.

‘ _Check his pulse! Quick, lift him!_ ’ he heard someone shout in the distance.

‘What?’ he muttered.

‘What what?’ Alfred asked, snapping him back into the dream, the room, with the man he loved.

‘Forgive me, I am a little unnerved.’

Alfred smiled reassuringly. ‘You need not be afraid of me, Drummond.’

‘I think it is myself that I am afraid of. I am overwhelmed by it all.’

‘All of what?’

‘My feelings,’ Drummond confessed. He looked upon Alfred helplessly. ‘I don’t understand it. I don’t know why, I just… I just feel it. Since the day I met you, I have wanted to impress you, I have wanted your approval, my absolute goal has been to simply be in your presence as much as possible and then I can never think what I am to do when I am, only that I want you to miss me when I am gone as much as I miss you. You are my first thought with the sun and the last when I drift into dreams.’

‘If you expect me to berate you for that, you’ll be sorely disappointed,’ a very flustered Alfred replied. ‘Because I am just as guilty of that same trouble when it comes to you, though that’s no secret now, after our wondrous evening.’

‘Were you, then, glad I... glad of it?’

‘I was glad you kissed me, yes. So very, very glad. It is all I have dreamed of for far too long.’

‘For long? Why did you not say anything sooner?’

‘What makes you think I was at liberty?’

‘You gave me signs.’

‘And _you_ picked up on them.’

‘I hardly knew that I did, really. At first. I was not sure. It’s been killing me! The uncertainty, wondering if… I know it’s wrong, but I cannot help it. I am consumed by thoughts of you, Lord Alfred. But with the engagement and London and Sir Robert and… Good grief! I am damned.’

‘Drink.’

Drummond scoffed.

‘ _Drink, Drummond_ ,’ Alfred insisted, coming close to him, even, to Drummond’s astonishment, patting his face softly, as if in an attempt to revive him. What an odd thing to do!

Drummond drank but he had no mind to leave this heavenly scene.

But he suddenly felt so weak and lightheaded. He was slipping away.

‘Perhaps I should return to my room now.’

‘There is a perfectly comfortable bed in here if you hadn’t noticed,’ Alfred replied deliciously flirtatiously.

‘I couldn’t…’

Alfred grinned anyway and hopped on the bed where he had left a book. Drummond could not imagine a more tempting tableau: the splendid Lord Alfred in nothing but a light nightshirt, unbuttoned far too low, the hem ridden up to thighs firm from riding every day, his hair as gold as the sun, his long lashes falling on his fair cheeks as he read from his volume.

‘Where was I… Ah! There it was. If you’re not going to join me in bed, you might make yourself useful in other ways, Drummond.’

‘What do you mean?’ Drummond asked, coming tentatively closer but only until one of the posts at the foot of the bed.

‘I believe we discussed the _Iliad_ earlier. Well, I found a copy of the original text in the library and I was hoping you could help me translate something.’

‘I am no expert at Greek.’

‘Balderdash! I know for a fact you are fluent in Latin, you, a man of law. You must have taken Ancient Greek at Oxford.’

‘Cambridge.’

‘Oh, well, we cannot be friends anymore in that case,’ Alfred joked. ‘Come, read with me. Here… look at this passage. I cannot seem to make head or tail of it for the life of me.’

‘Alright. May I?’ Drummond asked, sitting on the bed to get closer. Instead of handing him the book, Alfred scooted over so that they could look at the page together.

‘There, this word. Does this mean he had green skin?’

‘Sorry?’ Drummond cracked up. ‘Green?’

‘Yes, like olives. The same word is used there, and there. See? And here I thought Achilles was a fine, fair soldier.’

‘Well, he… he was,’ Drummond said, distracted by the real-life fine and fair soldier who somehow got him to come to his bed after all. ‘He was outstanding and exquisite.’

‘With a weakness,’ Alfred remarked suggestively, he, too getting distracted by Edward, whom he obviously longed to kiss again. ‘Perhaps that’s why he was green. Sick with envy at anyone who had more of a claim on his friend than he.’

Drummond held his gaze for a loaded moment but then busied himself with the passage next.

‘It is not really green that the word says. You see, these are not colours, they are rather phrases that grasp a shared essence of a vision or a phenomenon. We do not know with certainty that Achilles was blond, per se, but we do know that when he ran, his hair flashed and glinted in the sun. That could mean he had… wonderfully golden hair, yes, but it could also be a reference to his speed. His skin, it was probably not green like a toad, no. Perhaps it means it had the richness or warmth of freshly pressed olive oil.’

‘Olive oil?’

‘Y-yes… um… or perhaps his skin was… that golden or healthy or…’

‘Glistening.’

‘Sorry?’

‘From sweat, perhaps.’

‘S-s-sweat?’ Drummond stuttered. When had Alfred shifted so close to him?

‘From the heat. I hear the climate in the Mediterranean is supremely hot and humid,’ he breathed silkily almost against Drummond’s lips.

‘I w-w-wouldn’t know. I’ve never b-b-been.’

‘Perhaps we could go south together one day. Enjoy the sun, the beaches. Throw off our stifling cravats and bathe naked in the sea.’

Drummond was helpless. He leaned in and gave into his desires. He kissed Alfred with unabashed passion and Alfred kissed back so hotly he could not help but moan his name out loud, even if it hurt, it hurt like a hot blade, right in his middle—

‘ _FOUND IT_!’ someone said and the pain reached its sharpest point as, for some reason, Drummond’s bedroom at home in Mayfair swam into view. He saw a bloody lancet and a bullet and heard a clank as it hit a tea tray.

‘Did I hurt you?’ Alfred asked, pulling him back in the comforting vision.

 _An indiscretion_. Why did that word hurt indeed?

‘Alfred… oh, Alfred. I’m so sorry.’

‘Stay, then.’

Such temptation.

He could not remember the rest, though he tried to revisit it. Perhaps they fell asleep. In that case, he couldn’t wait to tell Alfred about this dream when he woke in his arms. Him? Shot? What a nightmare! He was the last person on Earth who would ever be found near a loaded gun, let alone face one. The morning could not come fast enough so that they could both have a hearty laugh about it.

Except that the bed was empty when he came to.

Gone were the warmth, the joy, the comfort. All that was there was the soreness in his middle that was realer than the most vivid dream vision. His very core was searing with a cut that went unnaturally deep. No matter how he lay, it remained, demanding his attention, demanding his prayers, his… life?

‘Lord… Lord Alfred…?’ he called faintly.

Perhaps he had only gone to get a glass of water. He would be back in his arms, surely.

Then, Edward remembered that he never went to his room. They came back to London. He left him at that table. He never made amends.

Wishing himself back in the memory, he closed his eyes and let the whole world go dark once again. This time, fully dark and he did not know whether it would lighten again.


	2. Sir R. Peel Saved by Private Secretary E. Drummond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dazed but not deceased. Edward wakes up and realises that not a moment passes without drama in his life as a misunderstanding has kept Alfred from his sickbed.

“ _It appears from information on which perfect reliance may be placed, that Mr Edward Drummond left the House of Commons with Sir Robert Peel. Without haste, they walked through a cheering crowd just learned of the decided repeal of the long-debated Corn Laws. The assassin pushed through the gentlemen and gentlewomen, and, showing a determination not to fail in the perpetration of the foul deed which he contemplated, actually pointed the muzzle of the pistol at the back of the unsuspecting Prime Minister. Upon his horrible cry for the PM to meet his maker, both him and his secretary turned in his direction. Mr Drummond hesitated not a half-second to push his superior behind himself, thus absorbing the flying ball in his stead. Immediately after the pistol was discharged, policemen who had witnessed the act, seized the criminal and pinioned his arms from behind. No other person was injured._ ”

_‘Edward? Edward?’_

‘Mhhg. Five more minutes.’

Edward had no intention of moving, let alone getting up in five or twenty or any number of minutes, not even when his dearest grandpapa was calling upon him.

_‘Drummond?’_

Why was his grandpapa calling him by their family name now?

_‘Edward Drummond, wake up!’_

Now, that, he felt compelled to listen to. The use of his full name meant he was in trouble, whoever called it. It sounded like Sir Robert Peel. But he wasn’t there in Scotland. Otherwise, he would have known that Drummond lost the Queen and Prince Albert for a night.

_Scotland is a long way from home._

‘ _Mr Drummond? Can you own me?_ ’ he heard the family doctor next, whether five minutes or five days later, he could not tell. That was strange, why did he creep into Drummond’s dreams? He liked Doctor Bernstein, always. He used to reward little Edward’s good behaviour with a sweetie. His parents would not have approved. They did not approve of much at the best of times, especially of slacking or indulgence. That’s why Edward determined to be as unoffensive a person as possible early on. He remembered waking up in cold sweats when he caught a nasty cold and had to miss school. How he apologised through his fever!

_Was it terribly hot or was it a fever?_

He was in a bed now. He really was. He should have been at school.

 _Just five minutes._ He felt awfully tired. He would just rest his eyes for a bit more. No harm in that. He would be as bright as a pumpkin for the school day. Or his lectures. No, he had graduated, he remembered. He was now working in Whitehall as the Prime Minister’s Senior Private Secretary. Sir Robert, again. People shouting. He was probably late for the debate. Where was his folder?

HIS FOLDER!

His eyes snapped open.

The painted oak of his four-poster bed’s ceiling stared blankly back at him from above. It must have been night time for he could barely make out that crack in the fourth plank from the top that he knew was there but never wished to have fixed. It centred him on sleepless nights when he mulled over lengthy speech texts and trade reports from overseas. In the times he had resided at 10 Downing Street, he rather missed this little detail. Why was he not there tonight?

He wasn’t in Scotland, and he wasn’t in Downing Street. He was in his own house. His toe ached. He remembered not stumping it. Or had he? That did not make sense to him. His head was awfully muddled. Plus, his ears were ringing; how could he have slept through that? He remembered the heat of his dreams but now he shivered even under thick blankets. His hands and feet felt like ice, contrasting the uncomfortable warmth in his middle that still persisted.

Someone was calling his name again. He saw a flash of blonde hair.

‘A-Alfrd?’

‘What’s that, sweetheart?’ a woman asked.

Evidently, the blonde person was not Alfred. He remembered waking up to an empty bed. He really wished his mind was clearer. He vaguely recalled wanting to make amends with Alfred, but why? Could it not have waited until he saw him at the Palace like normal?

But then, it occurred to him that something was far from normal.

‘Whr’s Alfrd…?’ he croaked weakly.

‘What is he saying?’

His throat was parched. He nearly gave into sleep but he felt a sense of urgency and anxiety that had to do with the discomfort in his middle. Didn’t something bad happen?

_‘SIR ROBERT, PREPARE TO MEET YOUR MAKER!’_

Oh, dear. _That_ was not a dream. Scotland was. That meant… He had been shot. With a pistol. Right between his ribs. The ball went through all the layers of his folder, the thick leather binding, all his carefully curated reports and notes, then his overcoat, his waistcoat, his shirt, and still it had strength enough to penetrate his body to some extent. This. This was real. He didn’t know how bad he had been hurt, so he suddenly panicked he didn’t have long indeed.

‘Lord… Alfred…’

‘Who?’ another woman’s voice asked.

That must have been his sister, only her voice was strange when it was so full of dread.

‘I think he means Lord Alfred Paget,’ the first voice replied. ‘One of the Marquess of Anglesey’s sons. We have some mutual friends. Edward speaks so often about him.’

‘Right. Him.’

‘H-have you—’ Edward tried but a cough defeated him. His sister helped him drink, supporting the back of his head with one hand and holding the glass to his lips with the other. As soon as he lay back, he demanded again, feeling desperation rising in him still more: ‘Has he been here? Has he been told?’

‘My darling, everyone knows of your heroism,’ Florence, the blond woman on his other side said. ‘It’s all over the papers. The whole of London is anxious for you to recover. Your butler has had to use brute force to keep the journalists away from the house.’

That meant nothing to Edward. ‘But him. But have you kept _him_ away?’

Florence frowned and looked for Edward’s sister for help, but she seemed just as confused.

‘What a strange thing to say, Edward,’ Charlotte said.

‘I need… to see him,’ Edward struggled to say, knowing his wretched state prevented him from getting across just how fiercely he felt about this. ‘I _must_ talk to him. Immediately.’

‘But, sweetheart, what could be so urgent?’ Florence said. ‘You must rest and regain your strength. You can receive visitors later.’

‘I said,’ Edward insisted, knowing he’ll be out of it soon, ‘I want Lord Alfred.’

Florence opened her mouth to object but Charlotte cut in:

‘Would you like to retire for the night, Florence?’ she suggested rather too firmly to be up for debate. ‘You’ve been here all day.’

‘But he has just woken up. I cannot leave now.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be out once he’s taken his medication. Really. It’s getting late. Go home. Get some rest,’ Charlotte said, and when Florence still didn’t move, ‘You wouldn’t want Edward to properly wake up to the sight of you in this state, now, would you?’

That seemed to do the trick. Charlotte entrusted Florence to write some notes and get the word out that Edward had been revived and then had the butler see her out. She watched the carriage leave from the window. As soon as it did, she turned to Edward.

‘Edward? Edward!’

‘Hm?’

‘Are you still awake?’

‘Am I… am I done for?’

‘About Lord Alfred,’ she spoke over him with hushed urgency. ‘Rest assured. He has been here.’

‘Alfred called?’ Edward asked, warmth stirring in his chest through his desperation.

‘Yes. And I say he is a fine actor,’ she replied rather coldly, though.

‘Sorry?’

‘The array of emotions he displayed, I say, he could be on stage,’ she said with a humourless laugh. ‘I have never seen a man act like that, not for his own mother’s funeral.’

‘Act… Like…?’

‘It was obscene. First, he was irrationally furious at having been told of the incident only the following day, through Miss Coke. What did he expect? He was most unreasonable, I found it so strange. And then he pushed in and dared to round on the physician and the surgeon as if he knew better than them and, most unnervingly, as if he were _responsible_ for you. Kept demanding whether the surgeons washed their hands before touching you. He even threatened to send Wellington upon us to stop the doctors letting more of your blood.’

‘Letting… my…?’

Well, that explained why Edward felt so wretchedly lightheaded and tingling with cold in his extremities. He was hardly taking in what she was rattling on about!

‘It was all nothing compared to his overreaction when he saw you. I mean he was crying buckets, for heaven’s sake. I had to have Wood remove him from the house. What a farce!’

‘Wait… Alfred… called and you…'

‘Now, I don’t know what sort of business you two are up to,’ she said in yet more hushed tones, fearful of the door though it was closed. ‘It is said he is your friend. He seems to have fooled everyone, especially you. But make no mistake. I found his note in the pocket of your coat.’

Edward was struck with fear. That note was not meant for anyone’s eyes but his.

‘You… f-found it…? You?’

‘Be thankful it was me who did, else they’d be saying all sorts of things and he would be certainly facing the noose.’

Edward gulped. ‘Charlotte… I can… I can explain…’

‘Be honest, Edward. How much do you really know him? Would he be able to commit such a crime? Against his good friend, of all people, if that’s really what you are.’

Tearing up, Edward cursed his pathetic state for this conversation required a lot more strength than he presently had. That sinking feeling in his stomach had nothing to do with his injury. His sister had found out about them and disapproved. She thought him a criminal, a lost soul.

‘We haven’t… _done_ anything…’

‘If he is behind the assassination—’

‘We just ki—WHAT!? Ow! Blasted…’

Edward had instinctively jerked when he snapped at her from shock, which upset the tender wound healing slowly between his ribs. He lay back cursing and spluttering his shock at Charlotte.

‘Blasted… Damnation! What on earth makes you think—by God!—Alfred? A dashed assassin!? Have you gone mad?!’

‘Calm down! You’re hurt!’

‘The kindest, dearest man I have ever known—a murderer!?’

‘Stop fidgeting so!’

‘Why, WHY would you assume such an absurd thing!?’

‘Well, his note…’

‘Was perfectly affectionate! AND _private._ ’

‘Well, it’s not anymore.’

‘By God! Have you shown it to someone else?! Dear God, have you shown it to the police!?’

‘I have not,’ Charlotte said. Edward lay back with his while body relaxing with a sigh of immense relief. Astonished at this reaction, she decided to pursue this there and then. ‘Edward, what’s going on?’

What was going on? How could he possibly reveal what was actually going on? Then, straining himself, it occurred to him that he had two choices: if he had not been wounded fatally, he could protect the man he loved to the end whenever that day came, while if he were to perish, he would relay the story of their love to someone who could be trusted with it.

‘Am I dying?’

‘No,’ Charlotte told him, fighting back tears herself, though she was not the weepy sort. ‘You’ll be fine, you idiot. It’s been a week and you show no signs of infections, thank heavens.’

That was at least some relief. He would live.

‘The note was _private_ ,’ he answered, therefore.

‘Edward Drummond, if you want me not to show this letter to anyone and if you want me to let Lord Alfred in this house, let alone your bedroom, you have to tell me everything right now,’ she demanded, brandishing the note produced from her pocket. ‘His words reek of menace! You had dinner with him? Interrupted? Why? What sort of underhand business had to be conducted outside the walls of the Palace? And why would he “determine your life”? Determine the length of it more like! And that threatening line at the end: “ _It would be a shame_ if you _never_ tasted the oysters.” I mean, who speaks like that but a damned villain? Clearly, he had plans for you that evening and now look where you are. And he has his alibi. Clever, I say.’

Edward would have laughed if he hadn’t been so utterly horrified, and to be honest, rather bilious from the blow he had suffered.

For a second he considered which was worse, letting her think his splendid, kind-hearted, wonderful Alfred could be capable of orchestrating an assassination against his person or to tell her the shocking truth.

‘You want to check the signature again, Charlotte.’

Though she scoffed, she did so, unfolding the letter fully this time.

“Yours, Alfred,” it said.

She missed it before, the signature having been buried under a bloodstain, but not completely. She reread the whole thing without automatically assuming the worst of the writer. The writer, who signed his letter with his first name, no titles, and with a short and intimate “Yours”. Perhaps there was a less inculpatory angle to this.

Meanwhile, Edward was shooting daggers at her with his eyes.

‘Have you kept Alfred away from me?’ Edward asked. ‘Because of your absurd conclusions?!’

‘I’m sorry, I just… you were shot and that bastard who did it has said nothing to the police. They say he’s just plain insane, but that cannot be. I could not accept that my dearest brother could have possibly met his end in such a horrid, senseless way, so I was desperate for an explanation and… So, this Lord Alfred, that anguished equerry that shouted our heads off and threatened to duel the surgeon, he really is just a friend?’

Edward glared up at his sister.

‘An affectionate friend?’

Edward still just glared.

‘I’ll send for him at once,’ she said and scurried from the room.

‘Charlotte.’

‘…No.’

‘Charlotte!’

‘Ugh, fine, and I’ll get Wood to bring up your newspapers, too.’

She stormed out huffing. Edward slumped back on his pillow and took deep, calming breaths. His vision had been compromised by colourful little dots like hundreds of ants. His wound needed time to properly heal. But he was alive. Not only that, but life had not stopped around him. Such drama already! He had been kept away from his love, though not for the reasons he might have feared. And he thought his fever dreams had been incredible.


	3. Heroic Private Secretary to Make Full Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starved for news, Lord Alfred can barely function until he is allowed to go to Drummond's bedside to see how he's doing with his own eyes. What now, with their unfinished conversation still hanging in the air?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't smoke, don't let children drink, etc. But, um... it's the 1840s, innit? They shared some bad habits.  
> The docs the snippet mentions are real except Bernstein, who is just my creation. We like him.

“ _Upon the impact, Mr Drummond lost consciousness and was immediately conveyed to his brother’s bank (which, as our readers are aware, is only a short distance from the spot where the shot was fired), where the wound was examined. Upon the arrival of the Westminster Hero’s maiden sister, he was taken by carriage to his Mayfair address, where he was further examined by family physician Dr A. Bernstein, and the ball removed by surgeons Dr George James Guthrie and Mr Bransby Blake Cooper, who have not revealed more confidential details. Mr Charles Drummond of Drummond’s bank and the heroic Private Secretary’s other brother, the Rev. Arthur Drummond warned “not to tempt Charlotte’s lioness-spirit by banging on the door”, to quote verbatim_. _They both declined to further comment beyond asking for privacy at this difficult time and wishing Mr Edward Drummond a speedy recovery, as do we._ ”

Lord Alfred threw the useless newspaper in the fire.

He had developed the bad habit of not coming down for breakfast or lunch. He only hungered for news of Drummond. Alas, days on, he remained dissatisfied with the measly bits of information he learned. How could they have kept him in the dark so? Was he nothing to Drummond? If they had only known…

But it was better they were kept in the dark, too. So, he waited. It was not easy. In fact, these past few days had seemed like a hellish eternity. He could not function, he could not show an unaffected face, he could not sleep without knowing the truth about his friend’s condition.

Nevertheless, he did not have the audacity to snub his own mother by skipping dinners, so he made the effort to come down for that, at least.

‘How nice,’ Lady Anglesey said from her seat at the too-large dining table. ‘I do miss it when the house was full of children.’

The house was anything but, presently. With all their sons grown up and building their various careers, and all but one of their daughters married, there were more footmen in the room than family members, which were Lord and Lady Anglesey, their youngest Adelaide who was a couple of years before debuting yet, and Alfred, who was normally at the Palace in a live-in position, but when he showed up clearly distraught about something, his old room was ready and just as he had left it.

‘Don’t you like the fish, darling?’ Lady Anglesey asked when Alfred was merely pushing his food around the plate again.

‘It is delicious, Mama,’ he answered politely and forced down a bite and a lot of wine to wash it down.

The marchioness shared a worried glance with her beloved husband sitting opposite, who was just as much at a loss as to what brought their usually spirited son down, but neither of them pushed their son to speak if he was not ready.

‘Oh, this might cheer us all up,’ she said instead. ‘George and Septimus might be visiting for a while. And soon. They are on leave as of tomorrow.’

‘Ah, capital!’ Lord Anglesey chimed in happily.

‘And that’s not all. I wanted to wait till the boys were here, but I just cannot keep it in any longer: Mary writes she is with child again.’

‘Oh, is she? Well, we must drink to that!’

‘Even me, Papa?’ Adelaide asked.

‘Well, now, Adelaide…’

‘Alfred, say something!’ the girl cut in, knowing she could get away with anything if one of her brothers was on her side.

Alfred would never dream of refusing, too. ‘Well, a drop won’t hurt, surely?’ he said, and nodded to a footman to pour his sister some wine, too.

They toasted to Mary, and her growing family’s good health.

‘Will she, too, come to visit, Mama?’ Adelaide inquired, after putting down her glass of wine with a frown.

‘I am not sure, darling, but I shall write that you miss her,’ her mother said.

‘I do miss her! She and Uncle Sandwich’s wedding was so splendid!’

‘You still call John “Uncle Sandwich?”?’ Alfred mocked her, to which she poked her tongue out at him.

‘When I marry,’ Adelaide continued, ‘I should like a dress like my sister’s, only the train shall be double the length!’

‘And I’ll be there to laugh when you trip over.’

‘Mama, tell him off!’

‘I think it is time to move into the drawing-room,’ Lady Anglesey said, just shaking her head at her children. Whatever age, they would always bicker but only lovingly, she knew. They were blessed with a family whose members happened to like one another, however unfashionable that made them—though, that may have been the work of a number of scandals to do with _amorous complications_.

They had hardly settled in the drawing-room for brandy and card games when a footman stepped in and brought a tray to Alfred. Instead of a glass with a double helping of liquor, there was a single letter on it.

‘This has just arrived, my lord,’ the servant said. ‘I’m afraid the deliverer was most insistent I bring it to you at once.’

Though Alfred was baffled at first, he nearly ripped the envelope into smithereens when he spotted the sender’s familiar name. It was only from _Miss_ Drummond but it was better than nothing! He was so eager for news, his eyes scanned the lines faster than his mind could take in their meaning. Miss Charlotte Drummond’s lengthy letter was mainly an apology for what she never clarified once. Not that Alfred cared much except about the fact that Edward was revived and asking for him and the invitation to call at the end.

He vaguely registered his family inquiring what it was about, but he just excused himself and ran to Drummond’s bedside as fast as he could.

Contrary to what the readers of the Sunday Times believed, Edward was far from recovered. It was days since the incident and he still drifted in and out of consciousness with alarming ease. The doctor told him to just stay put as the wound healed over nicely. This was an easy feat as he was not even capable of sitting up. He was thickly bandaged around his middle anew each morning. He was given something to numb the pain and help him rest, which only made him drowsier, so he couldn’t even get any work done in his absence from the office, which vexed him greatly. He only hoped the Junior Secretary, Stephenson, stepped up in his place, though he would have been swamped. Drummond envied him—indeed, he would have traded places with him in a heartbeat.

All in all, he was not living his best days.

However, after putting his foot down and demanding that Charlotte do as told for once in her life, things finally started to improve. When he woke from a nap, he was certain that the blond head of hair he could see belonged to Lord Alfred and no one else.

Alfred was sat on a chair pulled up to the side of the bed, but he was resting his arms and head on the blankets over Drummond’s thigh, like a naughty schoolboy that fell asleep in a classroom. Edward’s first thought was that he must have been terribly uncomfortable. Only someone who was desperately exhausted could find it possible to sleep like that. He wanted to urge him to lie on the bed properly, but he was sleeping like an angel, so he said nothing.

Edward also noticed that Alfred’s silver case was also protruding from his breast pocket. Extremely carefully, he slipped it out, helped himself to a cheroot, held it in the flame of a candle burning low on the bedside table, and for the first time since the incident, he felt like himself again.

Alfred stirred from the scent. He slowly sat up dazed, confused, and rather scandalised.

‘Drummond, did you just steal that from me?’

Edward exhaled languidly skywards and gave a weak smile.

‘They keep giving me lukewarm soup and not much else. Can you blame me?’

He had truly missed the real pleasures in life, however small. Such was smoking pungent cheroots and so was resting his eyes upon the most gorgeous man that ever walked the earth in his opinion, a real tonic.

And, presently, that man was stunned. In many ways, he was more dishevelled than the invalid. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks hollow. He had raged and shouted and fought and cried and gone through absolutely everything there was to do when the love of one’s life had only nearly escaped death.

‘But you are so pale,’ Edward noted. ‘How have you been? How do you feel? I hope you have been able to sleep. Are you not cold in here? There’s a blanket on the chaise longue if you need one.’

‘Oughtn’t I say these things to you?’

‘Me? How am I supposed to feel?’ Edward lamented, stumping out the cheroot on a tray for he could not keep his arm in the air for too long. He felt days of unshaven stubble on his chin, to say nothing of his hair. ‘I must look rotten.’

He sunk beneath the hem of his blanket, looking somehow younger than he normally did when he was in his full Private Secretary armour, with his folder as a shield, a step behind Sir Robert Peel. But Alfred wasn’t having that. He pulled the covers back an inch, staring the man he had hurt in the face.

‘I have never been more tempted to kiss you,’ he confessed unashamedly.

Edward’s heart quickened with excitement. Truly revived, at last! This was better than his sweetest dreams.

‘Well now,’ he said, however. ‘You must earn it.’

‘Sorry?’ Alfred asked. He was relieved that Edward was not only revived but back to his usual humour but honestly!

‘Just as I say. Perhaps I was too rash before.’

‘We had known each other for three years. Glaciers have moved faster, Drummond.’

‘And still, you cautioned me later. I didn’t mean to jump the gun—forgive the phrase…’

Alfred was not laughing. Too soon.

Edward shifted and stretched under the sheets, his back stiff from lying on it for so long, and his wound was going to be a hindrance for a while, he had to accept. He was only lucky a sore back was his worst problem. Physically, that is. In other matters, however, things were not so simple.

‘Are you comfortable?’ Alfred asked him. ‘You have medication here, I believe, or I can leave—'

‘Please don’t. I’ve just got you here at last,’ Edward smiled weakly. ‘I believe we have a conversation that we are yet to finish.’

‘Don’t worry about that now.’

‘I’ll worry unless I’ve said this.’

‘No harm done.’

‘No—’

‘It’s all fine, let us forget it—’

‘I’m sorry that I fled. I had my reasons. The oysters smelled dreadful, for one.’

Alfred still did not crack a smile. Particularly not when he had spent the past week agonising over his own words that compelled his friend to turn away from him.

‘Did you ask for me to rate your comedy? Because you find me in a much too serious mood, Drummond.’

‘Oh, I am quite serious, too. Before any talk of kissing, I find myself needing to be consoled.’

Though the invalid was indeed in a sorry state, Alfred found him even more maddening and irresistible for saying that. This was his cue to apologise and confess his love but, though he had prepared what he would say a hundred times in the past few days, he forgot every word of it.

‘Nothing? That’s disappointing. Everyone keeps weeping by my bedside and arguing and emoting. It’s worn me out frightfully. One journalist even tried to climb the pipes. The bar is high, but Charlotte tells me _you_ were the most passionate of all when I was first brought here.’

Alfred shifted uncomfortably. ‘I may have lost my decorum there for a minute. I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary. Don’t worry, I shall make my apologies in due course.’

‘No, no, I am not displeased. I am glad. It tells me you care for me a great deal, after all. Or am I mistaken? Again?’

The right words eluding him, Alfred took Edward’s hand. His fingers were so cold. Though Edward was normally the absolute image of strength and health, he squeezed back heartbreakingly weakly. Though normally not vengeful, Alfred wanted to kill whoever did this to him. Above all, however, he wanted to know Edward would be well.

‘Does it hurt?’ he asked.

‘Nothing has ever been as painful as this.’

Alfred’s eyes widened as his anxiety peaked—was Drummond suffering?—before he realised he meant what Alfred had done to him, to them, with his flippancy. Shamefully, he had to hang his head to hide his tears.

‘Oh, you mean this blighty?’ Edward chatted more lightly in the hoped it would brighten his friend. ‘It’s just uncomfortable. I’ve had worse from rowing. You want to know what, actually? You’ll laugh, you will.’

‘W-what?!’ Alfred sobbed.

‘My Achilles tendon,’ Edward revealed with a teary chuckle. ‘Is it not terribly foolish? If either of us is Achilles, it is you.’

‘You survived.’

‘Let us rewrite the story, then. Patroclus lives. Achilles need not mourn his… So, dry your eyes. After all, we neither of us can read the original.’

Alfred mirrored Edward’s smile, so indescribably glad that he was not left alone in this world with love he did not know where to put. In time, he would give it all to the man whose hand he was holding, every last drop of it, to fill him with strength and protect him from all harm.

‘Tell me what I can do to ease the pain. The papers talk a lot but say nothing.’

‘I am taken care of, thank you. But a kiss would be splendid. When I am not so damned light-headed, or unshaven, for that matter.’

Indeed, Edward looked like he could drift off any second.

‘I will earn it,’ Alfred promised.

Though with a smile on his face, Edward gave in to the pull of sleep, but less troubled now that he was in good hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the extra curious, I used the Times and Sunday Times archives to source information as well as the McNaughton trial records. The relevant stuff, I've collected here (includes link to the full digitalised text): https://animateglee.tumblr.com/post/170646039596/so-i-went-through-the-report-about-the-mnaughton


	4. Prime Minister to Resign? Mr E. Drummond Recovering Steadily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From dawn till dusk, Lord Alfred's mind is on Drummond. Looks like he can make it up to him after the mess made. Alas, there is a bonneted, blonde obstacle that still stands in his way, though he might not be the only one that wouldn't mind removing her.

“… his resignation. _Sir Robert Peel was more generous when interviewed about his Senior Private Secretary and saver of his life and health, Mr Edward Drummond, whose attacker has been named as a Mr Daniel McNaughton from Glasgow. Presently detained in gaol after having been interrogated at Gardiner’s-lane-police-station, the criminal may be charged with an offence of the most serious degree. The course of the next events may change with the progress of Mr Drummond’s recovery. It was first thought the wound was of a dangerous character, on the supposition that the ball had taken serious effect internally; but, on further examination, it did not appear any vital part was injured. The symptoms exhibited by the patient, over a week since the ball was extracted, have been found to be favourable. There seems to be no reason against the Westminster Hero’s full recovery and return to society, so that we may shake his hand and thank him for his extraordinary actions that prevented a national crisis and the assassination of a respected (if not unanimously popular) statesman.”_

The streets of London were just beginning to stir. Knocker-uppers were making their daily rounds and farmers’ carts were taking fresh produce to markets. Nearing his address, Lord Alfred avoided the eyes of the newsboy he passed, who rarely saw a gentleman all decked out in his elegant dinner costume at this early hour. He hoped to slip into the house unnoticed, but he was out of such luck.

‘By God, did you stay the whole night somewhere?’ asked Alfred’s father, Henry Paget, with half a toast in one hand and a freshly ironed copy of The Times in the other right in the foyer.

Alfred cursed internally and straightened up like nothing was amiss.

‘Papa, you must not walk around or your back will ache all day and you’ll be grumpy.’

‘You sound like your mother.’

‘Good. She is always right.’

‘Humpf… I’m just going back into breakfast, now. But where were you, really?’

‘I went to see Drummond.’

‘The Private Secretary that, uh…’

‘Yes. The very one. As you know, we are good friends.’

‘Ah, yes, of course. How’s that poor boy?’

‘Better. Better than I am, I daresay.’

Henry inclined his head at his son, who was indeed quite pallid.

‘Is this that’s been on your mind? Your mother and I wondered.’

‘It is. I was quite shaken, to be sure. I’m sorry if I worried you.’

‘I say, if the shock of this ghastly event has truly taken such a toll on you, why not go to the country for a few days to shake it off?’

‘No!’ Alfred objected at once, a trifle too vehemently. ‘No, I should like to stay close,’ he added more neutrally, fearing he had given himself away one too many times. ‘And… be useful. It might benefit Drummond if he had a… his… friend around I have a lot of things to do at the Palace and otherwise.’

Indeed. Item number one on his agenda: be on kissing terms with Drummond again.

‘Hmm,’ Henry smiled obliviously. ‘He has a good friend in you indeed.’

Alfred forced a smile, too, and made towards the stairs before Henry pried more. Alas, his father stopped him halfway up the stairs anyway:

‘Alfred!’

‘Yes, Papa?’ Alfred replied, anxious about what might come next.

‘Your mother says there’s a note for you about some banquet or other,’ Henry simply said, however, distracted by his paper and on his way back to breakfast. ‘And that you are not to run out on us at mealtimes without explanations again if you are to stay under our roof or you can lump it back to that dusty little palace of Her Majesty’s, and I quoted.’

Relieved, Alfred shared a confidential smile with his father.

‘Thank you, Papa. I shall do my best in the future.’

In actuality, Lord Alfred had little intention to pay heed to anything or anyone other than visiting Drummond. It would take time for him to heal, naturally, but Alfred wanted to earn a kiss. More than that.

He may reconcile with him.

He may get his forgiveness.

They may start again and see where it leads them.

This chance! This chance was not to be wasted. Nor was any hour he could be spending holding his hand while he got his strength back.

Alas, reminded by the banquet invite, he could not abandon all his duties at the Palace, so the afternoon found him promenading in the gardens with the ladies-in-waiting.

‘How is poor Mr Drummond?’ Miss Coke inquired.

‘I would hardly call him poor,’ Harriet, the Duchess of Sutherland, chimed in with a barely hidden smirk. ‘Florence tells me his worth is—’

‘He is well, thank you,’ Alfred cut in, uncharacteristically. ‘He is weak just yet, but he will only get better and better if given time.’

‘Please tell him we wish him a swift recovery,’ Miss Coke said. ‘I know you are such kind friends.’

Alfred nodded politely, though he was beginning to wonder why she said this to him for the dozenth time since Scotland.

‘I wrote to Florence to do so,’ she chattered on, ‘but I suspect she spends all her hours by his bedside.’

‘I would, too,’ Harriet mused. ‘If only to catch a glimpse of him as he bathes.’

‘Your Grace!’ Miss Coke chastised her, and Alfred wholeheartedly agreed, though he saw Harriet was only talking like this because Prince Ernst could be seen fencing and lifting weights nearby. ‘…Florence would not be allowed to see Mr Drummond bathe, would she?’

‘No!’ Harriet said, but not alone—Alfred heard himself object, too. NO. No. No. No. NO, and no. ‘They are not married _yet_.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Alfred also muttered to himself. ‘So, no more talk on this subject.’

‘Wait a minute, _you_ bathed with him once,’ Harriet turned to him.

‘Your Grace!’ Miss Coke shushed her.

‘Oh, it’s only us.’

‘But we promised Her Majesty we wouldn’t tell.’

‘They were the ones who jumped into that lake in the middle of a picnic.’

The ladies looked at Lord Alfred, who was indeed most scandalised to be hearing this.

‘You… saw that?’ he asked. ‘The _queen_ saw that?’

A child caught with their hands in the cookie jar could not have looked guiltier than the ladies.

‘I’m sorry!’ Miss Coke burst out. ‘It’s just that Her Majesty fancied a stroll in the shade and we thought we heard the sounds of peasants but then she spotted Prince Albert and…’

‘And Prince Ernst…’ Harriet sighed, positively ogling him across the garden.

‘And I’m afraid you and Mr Drummond were also—’

‘YES, yes, I remember, thank you,’ Alfred grumbled, putting an end to this. ‘Which proves that I am a dear friend of all these gentlemen, especially that of Drummond’s, who is in need of rest and respect, so I will hear no more gossip on the subject, thank you, and I would appreciate if you kept this to yourselves lest some journalists should catch wind of it. He is awfully worn out and the fact the papers are sensationalising his situation is not helping.’

‘Oh, please, Lord Alfred,’ Harriet chuckled. ‘He is wealthy, beautiful, well-mannered, intelligent, and now he can also add fame to his accolades. Honestly, Florence is so lucky.’

‘Do you think it would cheer him if we called?’ Miss Coke asked. ‘He might be pleased to hear that I have improved on the bagpipes since we were in Scotland!’

‘I believe he needs peace and quiet above all for now,’ Alfred replied, thinking an amateur bagpipe serenade was the last thing Edward needed, ‘but that is very kind of you. Let us walk on. Your Grace? Ma’am? HARRIET.’

The duchess tore her gaze away from the exercising Prince Ernst and followed her friends through to the rose garden.

Although he did not like her sympathy for Lady Florence, Alfred did not blame her, in his heart of hearts. He could hardly get his tasks done for the rest of the day without privately musing about Drummond bathing.

Unable to contain himself, he skipped dinner and returned to the Drummond house a little earlier than planned. Alas, he found he had to linger outside. For some foolish minutes, he was pretending to observe some construction work down the street. The reason? There was a Lothian carriage waiting on the curb right at Drummond’s doorstep.

Lady Florence, in his way, again. She was surely being received in the house. In her fiancée’s house, he remembered, deflating somewhat.

As he waited, he remembered what Drummond had told him about her. She was accomplished and personable—Prince Ernst once made fun of him for that most passionless description! Yes, Alfred thought to himself, if Drummond had seen Lady Florence bathing in ass’s milk like Cleopatra, he would certainly not have been impressed. He wondered, once again, why on Earth Drummond got engaged in the first place. He was so… so…

Free.

Alfred really thought so. Or at least Drummond appeared to be free. Harriet was right. He was a handsome, healthy young gentleman in possession of considerable wealth and a promising status. And he was a younger brother. As far as privilege went, he had it all. Men like him simply did not get forced into marriage against their will. Unless… Drummond was an honourable man, and, as this assassination attempt showed, prone to sacrificing himself for others. He said he cared deeply for the girl as a friend, even though he would never be able to love her as a wife. Did he not mention something about his parents’ wishes? Even if she had disliked her, his parents would not consider that an obstacle to the match. That, to Alfred, with his own family’s values, sounded strange. What really held Drummond to his word? Parental pressure could not have been it.

He could have gone into the house, really, and found out. He could have introduced himself as Drummond’s friend from the court and made small talk. He had to admit, he had been somewhat curious about the woman who claimed the hand of the man he loved.

But not enough to compel him to meet her. Not today, he decided.

It was easier to ignore her as long as he could not put a face to the name. Therefore, he only spotted the colour of her dress, and the pink ribbon around her bonnet when she stepped out and into the carriage. Drummond preferred blondes, apparently. Well, he preferred blond gentlemen, Alfred thought victoriously. Tapping his feet impatiently, Alfred watched the carriage leave and only then approached the door. The butler was agreeable again, took his hat, and let him go upstairs on his own.

Alas, when he realised he could hear the sounds of a quarrel, he stopped and listened from the hallway:

‘Edward, I cannot bar your fiancée from entering this house. Why should she not?’ Charlotte demanded.

‘Because! I need peace and understanding, not… wedding planning. I’m tired. Why can’t she ask _your_ opinion on flower arrangements?’ Edward grumbled.

‘Do not give her the idea or I shall shoot you myself! (Sorry.)’

‘Well, I don’t know about flowers and I do not care!’

‘And why should I?!’

‘I don’t know, don’t you ever paint flowers?’

‘Yes. Thousands. Can’t get enough of them,’ Charlotte said sardonically. ‘Honestly, what’s got into you? She positively behaves as if she is already the _chatelaine_ of this house, which she will be and soon.’

‘We’ll see…’

‘Well, we will! You are to be married in, what, three weeks?’

‘We are clearly not unless I am to be wheeled into the ruddy church and held at gunpoint! In which case I hope the shooter has better aim than this one did! It would be a relief!’

Silence. Alfred wondered whether he should have knocked but his curiosity took the better of him. The next time the sister spoke it was far more softly:

‘Is this to do with Lord Alfred?’

‘If it were, would you take sides?’

‘That sounds like a yes.’

‘…Would you?’

‘I am already on your side.’

‘Then be on my side and help me out. I wouldn’t ask. I _never_ ask favours from you. I give you everything you wish, I finance your lessons, I have housed you here so that Mama and Papa won’t say anything of your art or the unspeakable hours at which you see fit to get in.’

‘That’s… right… thank you.’

‘The ridiculous truth is I cannot possibly sleep when she calls. Propriety demands we be chaperoned, which means that even if I feel I could rest, she is compelled to strike up a conversation with you, which in turn disturbs me. Besides, I wish to read my own papers now that I am better, yet she volunteers even against my protests and then skips precisely the bits that interest me, claiming I ought not to worry about current affairs in my state. _And_ , she won’t let me smoke indoors in my own home!’

‘I happen to know exactly how you feel.’

‘Do you?’ Edward asked, dripping from scepticism as he indicated his middle where he was very much still holey.

‘You feel stuck and people think you’re too helpless to perform tasks of which you are perfectly capable. And when you are rightly frustrated, your pleas are dismissed. Everyone knows better what’s good for you. It’s for your protection. That’s just every day for a woman. Look, Florence is just trying to be helpful. I can’t throw her out for that. I would, gladly, but give me a real reason.’

Edward hesitated. There was one real reason but he could not use that.

‘I can’t. She is practically perfect,’ he begrudgingly admitted.

‘She _is_ bloody perfect. I’ve never liked her.’

‘You never like anyone.’

‘Would you believe I have not taken to any of my four brothers’ pals, every last one of whom is practically incapable of discussing anything beyond cricket, races, and why the poor choose to be poor?’ she said sardonically. ‘What could be so unsympathetic about them? It remains a mystery.’

‘Lord Alfred is not like that,’ Edward said so sweetly that Alfred’s heart swelled as he eavesdropped still.

‘He lives in Buckingham Palace. If anything, he must be worse. _And_ he is a Paget.’

‘Would you stop with your suspicions, please? There is no finer man than him. He may know his horses, but he is much more than that. He and his family have sacrificed a lot for the Irish, amongst other causes.’

‘Such as divorce?’ Charlotte asked, but not reproachfully. With humour, actually.

‘Well, if Lord and Lady Anglesey had not divorced their respective spouses and then married each other, Alfred would not be here, and that would be a damn shame, because he is just the most splendid friend to have, and clever, and caring, and well-read and cultured and—’

‘Alright, alright, if you’re going to gush about that man again, I shall take my leave and finish my book before bed—’

Charlotte was surprised to see just the man they’d been discussing standing outside the door.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, Miss Drummond,’ Alfred said, pretending he had just got in. ‘Your butler kindly let me in.’

‘Oh. Splendid. It’s awfully nice of you to call again,’ she said politely as she walked past him. ‘Your admirer is awake.’

Alfred pretended not to know what she meant and peeked in.

‘Good evening.’

Edward, who was propped up on his cushions in his bed, put down a sizeable broadsheet at the sound of his voice.

‘It is good now,’ he said with a smile. ‘Please, do come in.’

Alfred stepped in and inclined his head as he approached.

‘Have I come at an agreeable time? If you would prefer to rest, I can leave you to it and come back tomorrow.’

‘Nonsense. I have been looking forward to seeing you all day, Alfred—I _can_ call you Alfred, yes? I just thought, because of your letter…’

Feeling his cheeks flush, Alfred remembered debating whether to sign that letter so intimately or not.

‘Yes, you may. In fact, please do.’

Edward bit his bottom lip as he often did, though he was usually troubled when he did that. He was anything but that at present. That was encouraging. Alfred closed the door for privacy.

‘If you don’t mind.’

‘Please.’

‘You seem stronger tonight.’

‘I am, a little,’ Edward was proud to say. ‘It must be my cook’s witchcraft. And frightful amounts of coffee. Want some? The pot’s still warm.’

Alfred declined and awkwardly lingered, wishing the butler hadn’t taken his hat so that he wouldn’t be at a loss about what to do with his hands presently. Edward had spoken of him so sweetly to his sister, unaware that the object of his praise was in earshot.

‘Sit down, for heaven’s sake, Alfred,’ Edward urged him, endeared. ‘I might be frighteningly uncoiffed but looking at you one might think I was the wolf from the fairy tales.’

‘And that makes me the little girl he gobbled up?’ Alfred pulled a funny face and sat on the edge of the bed instead of a chair. ‘And here I hoped you would have less cheek today.’

Edward just flashed him a secret smile. A wolf? Sleeping Beauty, more like.

‘Her Majesty sends her regards,’ Alfred said politely, mostly just to say something other than screaming “I ADORE YOU”. ‘Everyone does, really.’

‘Do thank them for me.’

‘I will. Um… You know—'

‘How is—’

‘I’m sorry—’

‘I’m sorry—’

‘You go—’

‘Go ahead—’

At which point they had to laugh, which broke the remaining ice.

‘Forgive me, I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation with your sister,’ Alfred confessed. ‘We really don’t have to chat.’

‘Are you sparing me the effort or is it because you’re afraid to in case we address _touchy_ subjects and make a mess again? Fear not,’ Edward added quickly when Alfred’s eyes went wide. ‘I shan’t bite. I am no wolf.’

Under that soft, warm gaze, Alfred relaxed. He flicked his silver cheroot case open.

‘An olive branch, then?’

Edward smiled. ‘Share one?’

Though that was a tad forward for Alfred, he didn’t say no. He let Edward hold a tinderbox light for him and if their fingers brushed together as he handed the cheroot to him, well, that was just an accident, surely.

They should have talked. They had a lot to talk about. However, the tender and affectionate silence in which they shared their “olive branch” said far more.

‘Another one?’ Alfred offered when they finished it.

Edward declined, stifling a yawn. ‘The truth is I am defeated by fatigue just now,’ he said.

‘Do you have many visitors before I come?’

Edward pulled a face, not keen on discussing that. ‘A quarrel with my rebellious sister exhausts me at the best of times.’

‘Rebellious how?’

‘Oh, but she is an artist. A true bohemian. If she could have her way, she would run away to Paris and live a wholly unsuitable life.’

‘Well, Paris is the place to be if she is so inclined…’

‘ _Lord_. Alfred. I will not hear such encouragements, not even from you.’

‘Apologies. Shall I, then, talk some sense into her?’

‘A feat harder than collecting a piece of the Moon… It is enough that I can see you. A true tonic, if I may say so.’

Edward turned his palm upwards. How could have Alfred refused to slip his hand in it? It would have been a crime not to, really. His inner voice was screaming, longing to ask “What are we? Are you in love? Are you still getting married? What is to happen to us?” but he was wiser than to tax someone so clearly struggling to stay alert for his guest’s sake.

‘Are you not still disappointed in me?’ he had to ask, though.

‘Facing a gun puts things into perspective.’

‘I can only imagine.’

‘Let us keep it that way.’

Alfred may have squeezed his hand too hard at that. ‘Forgive me, it simply enrages me that after all those assassins firing at the queen with unloaded guns, a bullet should find you, of all people, and when I’m not there.’

‘Actually, it found my folder first,’ Edward lamented with a glance at the pile of notes on his desk, each page ruined by the course of the ball. ‘I knew those corn debate notes would save lives, though I imagined it would be the Irish. You did say I would make a difference in the world one day.’

Alfred allowed himself a laugh. Edward handed him his newspaper.

‘Could you? Just the important bits or my mind won’t rest—nothing mentioning me, God help me.’

‘You are a bit of a sensation, to be sure,’ Alfred chuckled.

‘Heavens.’

‘But would you not prefer to read it yourself?’

‘Oh, Alfred, you could read the address book and it would be music to my ears. Please do not deprive me of the pleasure.’

‘V-very well…’ Alfred gave in, though he could hardly read after that compliment. ‘Opera Singer’s Gown Slips Mid-Aria…’

Edward cracked up, despite his fatigue.

‘Sorry, I’m so sorry. That’s not politics. Ahehem. Page Two. Conservative Backbenchers Demand Resignation of PM…’

While Lord Alfred was distracting Drummond from the discomfort of his injury, he had no idea that it was his turn to be eavesdropped on.

It was just Charlotte who was on the other side of the door. She checked that the gentlemen were amusing themselves enough not to need her or notice her absence. She only caught a bit of the news being read aloud. Satisfied, she swiftly sneaked down the stairs and out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't smoke but I don't care, they do. Sorry. It's just fiction. Not trying to glamourise it. xx  
> I'm pretty sure Drums would have been given proper opiates to sleep through his ordeal--see my previous fics featuring High-off-his-tits-Drums. This disclaimer will be relevant for most chapters. xx


	5. The Westminster Hero – Who Is the Brave Mr Drummond?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Drummond house sees a lot more sneaking than Alfred assumed. His newfound habit is noticed by his father, who has his theories, as do the newspapers about their newest celebrity. Edward hopes to have a real discussion with Alfred at last, but what happens when the catalyst for it is a sobering interruption?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vague allusions to past suicidal intent, nothing long or graphic or anything.

“ _Due to unprecedented interest from our readers, we give a profile of the man who saved Sir Robert Peel._

 _Mr Edward Drummond is a nephew of the present Viscount Strathallan, Baron Drummond, of Cromlis, and Baron Maderty, in the peerage of Scotland. This family have been remarkable for their steady attachment to the Stuart family, and William Drummond, fourth viscount espoused the fortunes of the cavalier in 1745. He was slain at the battle of Culloden, and his name was included in the Bill of Attainder passed in 1746, with that of his eldest son described as James Drummond, eldest son of William Viscount Strathallan, although he was at the time himself Viscount Strathallan. His lordship had two other sons, one of whom, Robert, was the original founder of the bank at Charing-cross. He died in 1804, leaving four sons and one daughter. The second son, Charles (a partner in the bank), married Frances Dorothy, second daughter of the Rev. Edward Lockwood, of Portman-square. They have four sons and two daughters, viz. Charles, a banker, at Charing-cross, Edward, Berkeley (Lieutenant-Colonel, Scotch Fusilier-Guards), Arthur (in holy orders, rector at Charlton, Kent), Charlotte Matilda (residing with Mr E. Drummond at No. 19 Lower Grosvenor Square), and ten-year-old Anne Eliza Maria_.

 _At just 26 years of age, the promising young man and Oxford graduate has assisted two Prime Ministers (the present Duke of Wellington, and Sir R. Peel). However, we are happy to remind our inquisitive readers that it was only last month that Mr Drummond was announced to be engaged to Lady Florence Kerr, daughter of the Marquess of Lothian._ ”

Alfred held Drummond’s hand long after he had fallen asleep to the sound of his reading the news. Naturally, he would request the Times as bedtime stories, Alfred thought with amusement. You can take Drummond out of Whitehall, but you cannot take the Private Secretary out of Drummond.

After he drifted off, Alfred could not resist exploring his bedroom a little. He did not mean to snoop. He just wanted to be close to Edward and to know him as best as he could. Alas, a truthful discussion was easier said than done. So, he explored. The room spoke so much of its owner’s personality with its burgundy walls, tartan fabrics, and elegant, dark, oak furniture. It was neat, but it had character. One would find scraps of paper in unexpected places, and books that were marked on so many pages they were double the thickness.

Stumbling upon the holey folder, Alfred thanked the heavens for Drummond’s proclivity to scribble and record everything with remarkable meticulousness and to tuck his reports safely in the trusty leather binder that absorbed much of the bullet’s impact. Lifesaving politics indeed.

But he felt quite disappointed. Had he really been looking for clues? Perhaps he was, he admitted to himself. Alas, Drummond was an extremely private person. There was no salacious diary carelessly left lying around, no unfinished letters stained with tears on his desk. They were affectionate but was that simply on the surface and not to be crossed over?

Alfred returned to a chair by the bed, wishing he could rouse Drummond or read his mind.

He was woken from an uneasy nap by the first light of the dawn. _Damn_. His parents would notice his repeated absence. With a heavy heart, he stretched his stiff shoulders and unwrapped himself from the tartan blanket he borrowed for comfort, wishing he could take it so as to have Drummond’s scent with him in some form. Alas, his responsibilities beckoned, so he squeezed Drummond’s hand gently and slipped out of the room.

Little did he know that he wouldn’t be the only one at the front door at this hour.

‘Oh, fff—Lord Alfred!?’ Charlotte gasped, clutching her chest. ‘Good grief!’

She nearly had a heart attack as she found herself face to face with him first thing inside the house.

‘I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to…’

‘Are you just leaving?’

‘Well, I… Are _you_ just getting in?’ Alfred questioned.

They were at a stalemate, both stunned by the other’s actions and yet even more occupied by finding excuses for their own ones.

‘No,’ she lied. ‘I just… fancied an early walk.’

‘Alone?’

‘Why wake the staff for something so silly?’

‘True…’

‘You haven’t roused the butler just to get your hat and let you out, after all.’

‘That is also, uh, true.’

‘Hm.’

‘Hm, yes.’

A pin could have been dropped on the chequered marble floor and it could have been heard deafeningly clearly.

‘Well, I must fly,’ Alfred said, switching places with her, longing to get his hand on the door handle. ‘The queen awaits.’

‘Indeed, Charlotte said, backing towards the stairs. ‘And apologies again.’

‘For what?’

‘For failing to keep you informed.’

‘It is in the past. Thank you for allowing me to call again.’

‘But of course. Anytime.’

‘Thank you. Goodbye then.’

‘Bye,’ she said and turned to go upstairs.

‘Miss Drummond, just, um… forgive me…’

Alfred made a move but Charlotte jumped out of his reach. ‘What are you—!?’

‘There is a… in your hair… there’s a… You know what, it’s not my business. I’m going to, uh, go,’ Alfred muttered as he retreated, and got his hat off the rack.

Alarmed, Charlotte rummaged in the back of her hair and found a little red rose petal. It lay in her palm as if it had “LIAR” written on it in large ugly letters.

‘I, uh… was looking for flowers,’ she told him before he could sneak out. ‘At the florist. _Yes_. To paint. I intend to paint more flowers. Edward says I should.’

‘Right. Completely understandable. I would send you some if it didn’t give the wrong idea.’

‘Please don’t.’

‘I really must…’

‘Do.’

‘Yes.’

‘Lord Alfred?’

‘Yes?’

‘Tie.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your tie.’

Alfred realised his cravat was still hanging loosely out of his outer breast pocket where he had kept it during his nap.

He met her eyes like a deer in the headlight and there was a frown on her face and a question on her lips, but they heard the creak of a door from the back of the house. The staff was coming.

She fled upstairs and he backed out the door.

And he heavily exhaled, first thing. He had seen some embarrassing things at court but there was only so much awkwardness he could humanly handle. Besides, for all he cared, Drummond’s sister could have got up to anything as long as she did not stop him from visiting. Perhaps those flowers were not such a bad idea.

There was a crooked-nosed man across the street who eyed him rather judgmentally. Not him, too. Weren’t the newsboys enough? He fixed his tie around his collar as he made his way home.

He did later make sure to send an unsigned basket of roses cut and delivered straight from Queen Mary’s gardens that afternoon.

‘Why, Charlotte, do you have an admirer?’ Florence proposed when she had been visiting for hours and Edward was still (pretending to be) asleep.

‘They’re yellow,’ Charlotte shot her down and soaked them in to make pigment out of them.

No, it wasn’t an admirer, thank heavens, but a friend, who sent these.

Said friend was exhausted for his duties in the Palace, having missed out on proper sleep two nights in a row (which was subtly noted by his parents at breakfast for which he had overslept), but he did not mind a bit. He and Drummond were back to easy small talk, and a cheroot or two. Alfred read him to sleep (staying away from the irritating columns that kept mentioning him like some celebrity). He was being a good friend.

Except, a good friend of Drummond’s would not have been so devoted and preoccupied with thoughts of him and whether he would ever be able to steal more of his kisses.

‘I know you are such dear friends,’ Miss Coke would tell him again at random moments.

He would nod and refuse to elaborate for fear of giving himself away.

He had had affairs before, but he had never been under such a spell. He had to be careful. It interfered with his countenance even when he was nowhere near Drummond’s presence. Indeed, he found it hard to bark and shout at his equerries at the Palace when they failed to form a neat line with their horses or failed to cover the queen’s carriage from the rear.

‘You don’t let him smoke indoors, do you?’ Florence asked in a too-loud whisper near dinnertime.

Charlotte had enough.

She had not been able to read or paint or go out or anything all day because Florence fancied being a busybody from morning till evening and she preferred to have her future sister-in-law as a chaperone instead of her maid. There was only so much wedding talk or needlework one could be expected to tolerate for a day. Enough.

‘Perhaps it is time you left for now.’

‘Oh, but Edward fell asleep right when I began to tell him of my plans of the décor.’

‘There was a reason for that,’ Charlotte muttered and stood anyway and nearly dragged Florence out of the house. ‘Truly. It’s getting dark.’

‘But—'

‘He won’t wake until tomorrow.’

‘But he was sleeping almost all day!’

‘Hm, well, pity. Bye-bye!’

After dinner in his own family’s home, Alfred had mentally wandered off secretly, once again, completely zoning out of his father and his brother’s conversation over cigars. He was too excited about seeing Drummond again now that he was free to go any second.

‘What about a game of snap tonight?’ Lord Anglesey asked from his cloud of thick cigar smoke. ‘We make four. How about it, boys?’

Septimus and George, Alfred’s brothers, who were both on leave from the military, were game but only if there was no gambling with real money. Alfred, however, stumped out his cigar and excused himself.

‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Alfie,’ Septimus quipped. ‘I know for a fact that you’ve once taken ten guineas off Prince Ernst just for a race back to Windsor Castle.’

‘Ten guineas?!’ George cackled. ‘Poor devil! I bet you didn’t tell him that’s the cost of a cow.’

‘What do you know about cows, Gee?’ Sept asked him.

‘Not as much as you, given your acquaintance of Lady Cheltenham.’

‘Oi! You!’

‘Now, now, boys,’ Henry scolded them out of obligation but his words never had any effect and he knew it. ‘But really, Septimus, Lady Cheltenham?’

‘Please do not tell Mama—hey!’ Septimus grunted when he was still being teased into the ground. ‘Why must you always question my tastes in women? Let’s change it up, say, mock Alfred tonight!’

‘Alfred’s taste leaves nothing to question—hang on,’ George retorted but then stopped himself. ‘I don’t think I can name a single lady you’ve courted—’

Alfred stood. ‘Bye then.’

‘Come on, just one round, Alfie,’ George urged. ‘Or a game of pool if you don’t fancy cards.’

‘I’m sorry, you’ll just have to hand me your money another time,’ Alfred replied without a beat. ‘Goodbye, Papa, goodnight, I’m off.’

‘Off? Are you going out?’ Henry inquired.

‘I am. Tell Mama goodnight and that I shall endeavour to be in by breakfast on time.’

Alfred’s brothers did not bat an eyelash, too busy arguing about who was better at billiards. But Henry did not let him get away this easily.

He caught up with him in the foyer:

‘Alfred, are you going to the Drummond house? Again?’

‘Where else?’

Henry waited for the assisting footman to leave.

‘Are you sure this is wise, son? It is dreadfully late.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Alfred chuckled as he pulled on his gloves and coat with haste. ‘I may not be a Waterloo hero, Papa, but I believe I can handle myself. It’s only Mayfair, hardly the Wild West.’

‘You know that is not what I mean,’ Henry said. As ever, he was not angry just correct.

Alfred reluctantly humoured him: ‘I don’t see what is unwise about it. I am visiting a convalescing friend, why shouldn’t I?’

‘That’s what you said when Lieutenant Peel came home from the East all bloodied up.’

‘That was seven years ago, Papa, he was nineteen!’

‘And five years hence, I still hear snide comments at the club.’

‘And they all remain wholly unsubstantiated,’ Alfred lied.

The time Henry referred to was the summer before Alfred’s last term at the academy. His _special friend_ from the navy was recovering from minor war wounds and he simply kept him company. Well, contrary to his letter asking for him, the friend didn’t really need to convalesce at all unless rolling around in bed with Alfred for weeks counted as such.

‘He was alone in the country, with no one but the housekeeper who cared for him,’ Alfred explained away, fussing with his gloves to avoid his father’s eyes. ‘His father certainly didn’t. Too busy campaigning, I suppose.’

‘I still cannot fathom why you would have shown such devotion if not to impress someone. His younger sister, perhaps?’ Henry suggested.

‘What?’ Alfred huffed, head spinning. _That_ was what those snide comments were about?! ‘Papa, she was in another county, for heaven’s sake! Never met the girl in my life!’

‘But is it not correct that Drummond’s maiden sister resides in his house presently?’

‘God, have you, too, been reading the dashed papers?’

‘The assassination is the talk of the town.’

Alfred huffed impatiently. ‘She lives there, yes. So?’

‘So, did you not also send flowers to her house today?’

‘It’s Drummond’s house.’

‘In any case… I’m just saying… to some, it may seem, well, unseemly! Why can’t you go in the daytime?’

‘For the simple reason that my schedule is full. I assist the Queen of England personally. Skiving would be a mild form of treason!’

‘By God, I know it does not matter so much to you but think of her reputation.’

‘Really, Papa. You, of all people, concerned about some girl’s chastity? Now, I’ve seen everything!’

‘I’m just saying… I know you are a nice boy, much less trouble than your brothers, but I know men.’

‘I think I know them better…’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing,’ Alfred said, cursing himself for his sharp tongue. ‘Believe me, Miss Drummond and I have barely passed each other in their foyer,’ he said, which was not even a lie, only not the complete truth. Whatever business she got up to, it wasn’t Alfred.

‘And their staff?’

‘…are well-paid, I daresay. Hang on, this sounds nothing like you. Did Mama put you up to this? She did, didn’t she?’

Henry grumbled something unintelligible, confirming these suspicions. Alfred chuckled and patted his father on the shoulder.

‘Next time you hear anyone talk, direct them to me. I should love to give them a piece of my mind directly. But now, I must fly.’

‘Oh, alright, away with you, then. After all, I have no leg to stand on when it comes to one’s reputation…’

Alfred slammed his palm against his own face. ‘God, even for you, Papa… That’s my cue to leave.’

‘Do wipe that grin off your face at least,’ Henry advised even if Alfred was already positively skipping down the front steps. ‘Drummond’s a Tory, he cannot be that amusing a friend. And don’t stay until dawn. People will think you’re coming from a duel.’

‘Good! Septimus could use a distraction from his own dubious exploits.’

Once Alfred neared the Drummond house, he expected that the sight of the Lothian carriage and its bonneted passenger would aid him in composing himself before he entered the house, but there was no sign of it this time, given the late hour.

Feeling observed, he was compelled to look up from the curb. He could not contain his smile when he caught Edward awaiting him from his window. Feeling like a romantic hero, like Romeo calling on Juliet – without the horrendously tragical conclusion – he knocked on the door in a most lively manner and he was still ecstatic when he was shown upstairs and left alone with the man he adored so much.

Edward was just sitting back into bed gingerly.

‘Ah, he walks! A miracle,’ Alfred joked happily.

Edward mimicked his grin. ‘Don’t get too excited,’ he said, throwing his dressing robe at the foot of the bed. ‘I can just about manage a few steps if I take it extremely slowly.’

‘Still, this is splendid news. You’ve made such progress. It must be terribly tedious to be stuck in your room day and night, but I am so proud of you, I really am.’

Edward shot him a modest glance. ‘Stop flattering me…’

Alfred let that go in one ear and out another. But he also found he had nowhere to sit as the bed was strewn with newspapers. And he was not going to sit in the chair, further away.

‘Honestly, do you ever take your nose out of your papers, Drummond?’

‘I don’t want to miss out on events while I am away from Whitehall.’

‘There’s not much to miss,’ Alfred said and got to gathering the prints in one neat pile. ‘Bets for the races are open, the Chartists keep holding meetings, and you’re a hero and a catch,’ he surmised. ‘You’ve shaved,’ he added, sitting down.

‘I have. Well, my valet did it. I feel much more presentable now. I must say, the day I will have fully recovered cannot come soon enough. I detest being such a nuisance.’

‘You are not a nuisance, Drummond.’

‘Hm. Depends who the judge of that is,’ Edward said with a rather self-deprecating laugh. ‘And in that spirit, I shall try not to succumb to sleep this time. Charlotte says you stayed all night. I can’t really remember…’

‘No, you were out like a log.’

‘How rude of me. Interrupted, again.’

‘I think you were given poppy tea before or some such thing. That should do it.’

‘Heavens… strange, we fight wars in the east about the stuff but serve it to the sick over here.’

‘I think you’ll find we were fighting _for_ the right to use it.’

‘To trade with it, actually, which is not the same as using it, especially if said use is against the best interests of our trading partners, and diplomacy could have easily—Sorry. Enough about politics.’

‘Please, go ahead! I am eager to correct you on all points.’

‘Sorry, why are we friends, again?’

‘You tell me.’

Edward laughed, like he used to, before all the mess. They lit a cheroot each.

‘It amazes me that you keep coming back when I am such miserable company,’ Edward said.

‘It is the best part of my day,’ Alfred confessed.

Edward was quite touched by that earnest, gentle tone. Their eyes locked, just like a thousand times before across ballrooms and reception halls.

‘Mine too.’

Neither of them knew how to continue. There was too much excitement in the silence between them. There were a million things Alfred needed to say, but he was scared of his own sharp tongue. Edward, on the other hand, did not want to waste a second more.

‘Now that I am truly better, I was hoping we could—’ he said but he was interrupted yet again, this time by the doorbell.

Alfred instantly panicked. They both did.

‘By God, is this your… your… _fiancée_ again?’ Alfred asked. The word tasted like a curse on his lips.

‘Can’t be. She left an hour ago.’

But when they listened, they heard female voices coming from the foyer indeed.

‘Your mother? I hope?!’

‘She’s in Scotland. Perhaps it’s a friend of Charlotte’s,’ Edward said or hoped, though he did not believe in his own words. Nevertheless, Alfred stumped out his cheroot and stood up. ‘Wait, you needn’t leave.’

‘I would rather.’

 _Why had he not listened to his father?_ Alfred chastised himself. He had been so giddy, so foolishly in love, that on some level he had imagined he had Edward all to himself. How untrue that was!

An exasperated Charlotte came in, brandishing a murderous looking paintbrush.

‘Excuse me, Edward, I have been _sent_ up to ask whether Florence has left her gloves in here by any chance.’

Before he could answer, Charlotte was ushered aside by Lady Florence. Edward swiftly stuffed his cheroot in his tea before his fiancée pushed into the room in a flurry of apologies.

‘… don’t you worry, Charlotte! I’m so sorry, Edward,’ she said with ease in his presence and kissed him on the cheek like it was a regular habit. ‘I seem to have left my new gloves in my haste earlier. I could not find them anywhere in the carriage, so I thought I would pop back and look. You don’t mind, do you, my dear?’

Edward searched for Alfred in quiet panic, but the man had slipped behind the screen in the corner.

‘I would be loath to lose them, I want to wear them on our honeymoon. But I simply cannot seem to remember where I put them! One second, they were there, and then, puff, vanished! Isn’t that silly?’ Florence quipped, searching the room.

‘Mmh-hm,’ Edward muttered, feeling small. ‘Perhaps in the morning…’

‘Oh, but I will not rest! You must be quick to catch lost things or they have a way of running away for good. Now, let’s see. I remember wearing them when I arrived… and then I opened up a window…’

On a stool behind the screen, Alfred was horrified to spot a pair of periwinkle blue gloves that must have belonged to her.

‘The window… and then where did I next…’

Her voice sounded nearer and nearer and no excuse was coming to his mind at all for the inevitable reveal—

‘PERHAPS,’ Charlotte, who had seen everything, spoke up loudly. ‘Our butler might have taken them? He might have mistaken them for mine. The gloves match your dress, do they not? It is a fashionable colour. I believe I have a pair so terribly similar,’ she lied.

‘Oh! Darling, Charlotte! Perhaps that’s it. It is a pretty colour, is it not?’

‘So pretty,’ Charlotte reassured Florence firmly. ‘Would you like to follow me _downstairs_ so we can ask the staff?’

‘That would be splendid! Thank you!’ Florence rejoiced. She gave a goodbye kiss on Edward’s forehead before she left, albeit slowly and chattily: ‘I’m off now. Really, this time, or Mama shall be cross. Not to mention Papa—he has been in a tense mood of late; he is asking about your health a lot. Is it not sweet of him to concern himself so with your recovery? I have to reassure him daily. Now, do try to sleep, darling. See you tomorrow. But, oh, fair warning: I have not given up on winning you over about that wallpaper! This room is so dark and stuffy – I mean, that screen looks like it is from the last century! And it all smells faintly of those awful cheroots you smoke. It shall be marvellously bright and airy when I am done with it, you’ll see.’

Edward nodded in assent because it was easier. He just wanted her gone. Appeased, Florence waltzed out the door.

Charlotte caught Edward’s hollow but deeply thankful look and, though she was baffled, she knew for a fact that Lord Alfred had not told Edward about catching her sneak home at dawn, so she said nothing and followed Florence downstairs.

Once he heard the heavenly sound of the door closing, Alfred reappeared awkwardly, holding the gloves like they were made of a poisonous fabric. This time, it was not excitement that coloured the silence. Rather than a few steps, they felt an ocean apart.

Alfred placed the gloves on the bedside table.

‘Be sure to give these back to her tomorrow.’

‘Alfred…’

Alfred shook his head and forced a smile even though he wanted to crawl into a hole and cry his eyes out, preferably get swallowed by the earth whole if only to end the torment that raged within him. The sound of hooves and wheels on gravel was his cue. He uttered a goodbye and made towards the door.

‘Alfred?’ Edward spoke sitting up. ‘Please stay, I was hoping we might talk.’

‘We can. We will,’ Alfred said, barely keeping tears at bay. ‘The wallpaper might have changed colour by then.’

‘Alfred, no, please—'

‘Another night.’

‘What if I said you’ve earned a kiss?’

Alfred scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was ridiculous.

‘You promised.’

‘You want to talk about promises?!’ Alfred snapped back and immediately regretted it. ‘Forgive me. I shall return when I’ve collected myself. Goodnight.’

‘But… no…!’ Edward pleaded, springing out of bed before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to. ‘No, Alfred, please stay, just—oh…’

Something was not quite right. By the time Edward had crossed the room, his knees weakened and his vision was overcome with dancing dots.

‘Drummond?!’

But Alfred could barely keep him from collapsing on the floor like a rag doll. Though he was a touch larger than him, with gorgeous shoulders from rowing regularly, Alfred scrambled to catch him wherever he could, by his arms, by his side, and laid him gently on the carpet, with his feet up in the air. He even tore off his frock coat and bundled it up to use as a shallow cushion under Edward’s head.

‘I’m sorry… I’m…’

‘Shh…’

‘Please don’t leave me,’ Edward was saying even if his eyes were scrunched up while he fought his body’s weaknesses. ‘Please, don’t leave… I need you, only you…’

‘Just breathe and stay put,’ Alfred told him, forgetting his anger and humiliation completely as he provided aid.

Edward was shaking but not from ill-health. ‘This is hell,’ he sobbed miserably.

‘Shh… Just be. I’m not going anywhere.’

As he held him in place, Alfred could feel under Edward’s nightshirt that the bandages ran around his middle, layered and layered on top of an injury that could have so easily been fatal. He tucked his thighs under Edward’s legs so that he could lean over him and better observe him for signs of fainting or worse. And they waited.

Edward was so terribly pale and yet he fought it off and stuck it out until he was well enough to open his eyes. When he did his gaze cleared and fell upon Alfred, who was watching him from above, and stroking his hair soothingly and holding him until he was alright. It was just what they needed to calm down and find each other again.

‘Better?’

Edward nodded.

‘Oh, you, foolish, beautiful, rash, brave idiot,’ Alfred said fondly.

‘Beautiful?’

Alfred nearly laughed out loud. ‘Why the bloody hell did you do it?’ he chastised the hero of the day.

‘Getting engaged or jumping in front of a bullet?’

‘Either.’

‘Both for the same reason. Because I’ve been a coward.’

‘No one thinks you are a coward, Drummond. You have been uncommonly brave.’

‘Perhaps. I wanted to be a coward. I wanted to jump… off. In Scotland. I meant to return to that cliff edge in the night. I probably would have if it weren’t for the queen getting lost. I was frightened of my feelings but yet more frightened of a life without feeling them. So, I wanted to… Anything but come back to London and talk about wallpaper and read papers discussing where I shall honeymoon.’

Alfred went as pale as the man in his arms. The time for small talk was over, then. He had no idea Edward was capable of nurturing such dark thoughts. He knew he had been unhappy, he talked in dramatic terms, but this was not to be conceived.

‘Nearly succeeded, after all,’ Edward said with a misplaced laugh, squinting against the candlelight around him. ‘Perhaps Death had caught me eyeing him and wanted a taste. I don’t know whether it takes cowardice or courage, but a swift demise would have been preferable to the slow death I face now.’

‘No, no, no, they said you’ll be fine—'

‘Marriage, I mean. Because it would be a kind of death. That’s what I tried to tell you before. If I am to throw my life away, I might as well have perished at the hit of a bullet. I see no difference between the two. It would have been a relief.’

‘Don’t say that. You have much to live for.’

‘The only thing I can think of that fills me with the joy and hope and enthusiasm that I should feel at my age is you, Alfred. It’s not my family, not my work, not my ambitions. It is you. You, who, either do not care for me half as much as I imagined or, you do but you do not consider me worth risking your comforts and riches for, and I do not know which is worse.’

‘But I do, of course, I care for you, I…’

‘No, you don’t,’ Edward nearly sobbed. ‘I _kiss_ you and you say we must leave all that in Scotland. I tell you I will break off my engagement, and you advise me against it and say what we did was a mere indiscretion. I let them put an announcement in the paper, and all you do is invite me to finish a dinner—no doubt another chance to discourage me.’

‘No!’ Alfred uttered, despising himself more than at any moment in his life. ‘Is this what you…? No. No, I…’

Alfred had hoped he would have more self-control but when could he have opened up to Drummond if not when he was lying on the carpet with him in his arms and believing his affections were untrue? So, he weakened, too. He succumbed to his pull and rested his forehead against Drummond’s while his heart was burning wildly for this man that he had to remember could only be his in his dreams.

‘I have been to hell and back since you’ve been hurt!’ he confessed in a heartfelt whisper, needing to speak the unspeakable. ‘I have never been this scared in my life. Yes, I was inclined to practice caution before but, no, oh, I no longer have to wonder about the seriousness of my affection for you. I know now, with ardent clarity, that which I wanted to ignore with all my might: that I would not be able to live without you. I should be half myself if I cannot have you, to hold in my arms, to… even if I must. We have to face the facts. Their fist will not be any gentler just because it is clad in silk gloves. It is not that I do not regard you highly enough, because I do. You have no idea. But you regard me too highly, _much_ too highly. I implore you to think twice before risking it all just for… for…’

‘Love?’

‘…me. Excuse me?’

Edward was not blinking.

‘I wouldn’t know what else to call it.’

Alfred didn’t know whether he had earned it or not, but he kissed Edward with trembling lips. He had not realised he had been in need of a tonic too, only now that he had his first relief from the terrible anxiety of long and arduous days and the sweetest release from years of longing. Edward reached up to hold him close as they deepened their kiss, letting warmth course through every vein and remembering what it was like to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact check:
> 
> One of Edward's unmarried sisters did reside with him, but it was probably Anne, who is not that much younger at all, I just didn't want to have to deal with her plotwise. I created the Charlotte of my fics before I knew Anne existed, but Charl passed a couple of years earlier than Edward, so it had to be Anne at his deathbed. But Charl died at sea on the Duchess of Sutherland steamer passing between London and Scotland and that is a telling character trait for our purposes, which will be apparent later down the line.
> 
> Everyone's ages are incorrect - in truth, Drummond probably never met Sir Robert's navy officer son, who was too young and too far away in the Opium Wars--more about this guy later. *wink* The "country" probably meant Drayton Manor, which was Sir Robert's country house but it no longer exists. There is a theme park in its place. -.- *sigh*
> 
> The news snippet used here is actually Drums' obituary -- I CRY. Doctored to stay in the present tense. <3
> 
> I tried to find the Drummond house in London. Yes. Personally. On my own feet. I'm not crazy I swear. The street as it is currently numbered skips from number 18 to 20. There is no number 19 Lower Grosvenor Square. Go on, check that on Google Maps. Go to street view if you don't believe me. In the place it should be is a newly built building between dozens of those beautiful white townhouses that were fairly newly built in Mayfair and Belgravia in the 1840s. I have a private notion it is hidden like 12 Grimmauld Place in Harry Potter. If anyone finds out just where this house should be, in case the numbering was different back then (maybe I just can't access an archive that confirms this), or what magic word I need to utter to reveal it, LET ME KNOW. This, as Lord Alfred Paget's yacht was named also, is a MYSTERY. Oh, btw, Alfred had his own townhouse (A MASSIVE ONE WITH A BALLROOM AND ALL) at 42 Grosvenor Place, which is literally just across the park from Buckingham Palace. We're pretending this is his parents' London address. Today, it is, I DEEPLY REGRET to say, being transformed into a fucking hotel. I saw it in its intact form 2 years ago and found it on a site that advertises ridiculously expensive houses (a tabloid picked it up to show off some pics indoors), and it was beautiful, the same as the other houses next to it. Now, it is on its way to becoming a fugly hotel, still probably scaffolded. If you're at the Wellington Arch, you have a view of this tragedy.
> 
> On the upside, Queen Mary's Gardens in Regent's Park is still there and it has lots of roses. Yellow is for friendship. Apparently, the Victorians were big on flower language. Yes, you can make diy pigment out of petals. I don't know why you would but okay. Here's to new hobbies. I didn't mean to offend fans of needlework, crocheting or anything. Live your best life.
> 
> I have no idea whether periwinkle blue was fashionable that year.
> 
> Septimus did not exist. Nor did Florence. If she had, she would have been a Kerr not a Villiers as mentioned on the TV show. George did exist, however, and he was indeed in the military and rode into battle in the Crimea while smoking a cigar. He wrote an account of it. Pagets gonna Paget.


	6. The Luckiest Man in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They TALK.

“… _We implore our esteemed readers to direct the biographies of their eligible female relations elsewhere. Mr Drummond was lucky to survive, and the date of his nuptials may be pending on the widely praised gentleman’s recovery following his saving of the Prime Minister from a foul assassin (more on the case against McNaughton on Page 4), but he is very much spoken for._ ”

The candles were burning much lower and they were still kissing on the carpet. Alfred remembered with all his might that Edward was still quite fragile really and this should not go too far. The things he would have done to him if he hadn’t been so… Despite his ailments, Edward was just as eager, if not more so, now that he got a taste of what it felt like to kiss someone properly, without interruptions, without fear, someone he loved so much he could have burst from happiness.

Was it worth it to risk one’s life for this? A resounding yes, they had to admit.

‘I’ve never done this before,’ Edward remarked at some point. Not that he was complaining.

‘Hm, well, I suppose this is really not helping the blood rush to your head…’

At that, they really had to stop because Edward could not contain his laughter. For the first time in ages, his joy was untainted with an immense burden sitting on his chest like before. He had wondered whether he was alone in this world with his feelings. He had wondered whether he had made a mistake revealing them to Lord Alfred. His future had seemed daunting and insurmountable without this lifeline called love.

But there was no mistake here.

‘Let’s get you back into bed,’ Alfred suggested, just realising the rain was pouring outside. They had been quite deaf to it in their distractions.

‘Now who’s rash?’

‘To _rest_.’

‘I don’t believe I can ever get any rest again, knowing I could be doing this.’

Though Edward’s flirting made a strong case, Alfred was wary of the unlocked door and remembered to come back down to earth. Slowly, to avoid another headrush, he helped Edward back into his bed, even while he insisted he was fine. The colour had really returned to his face, that was for sure. Alfred would have of his own accord, but Edward would not let go of him, so he had no choice but to get comfortable by his side, no choice at all. He stayed over the covers in case another interruption came to spoil their moments. He wouldn’t flee behind the screen, though. Reassurance gave him more confidence, and the way Edward kissed him emboldened him with more than enough courage.

He could not, however, shake the feeling that this is not the way he did things. Not at all. He was used to a suggestive glance or a racy innuendo or two and finding himself acting on his desires before there was any discussion at all, if it ever came, and when it did it was never about love. Nobody had ever sought him out for love exactly. Whereas with Edward, because of his present condition, there was really not much they could _do_ even though their attraction burned between them all the same.

So, they just lay in the night and exchanged languid kisses—it was hard to stop once they had opened that gate. The strange thing was that this did not feel strange at all.

‘Shall I blow out the candles?’ Alfred asked when he noticed Edward was fighting to keep his eyes open.

‘I want to see you.’

‘You really ought to be sleeping.’

‘I don’t want to. I want to talk. Now. We must plan. After all, have we not learned that tomorrow is not always guaranteed?’

Alfred could not dispute that part. ‘What do you need?’

*

Meanwhile, somewhere near the port at Southampton, a hotel clerk asked the same question from a visitor: a tall and drenched man who, audaciously, snatched the cigarette out of his hand first thing upon arrival. As he smoked like he had not seen tobacco for weeks, one could observe that the man’s face was quite handsome, though it was currently hidden behind long, dark, and presently wet locks of hair and the uneven stubble of someone who attempted to shave while rocking up and down and sideways and then gave up. However, his navy uniform was telling, and the rain was unforgiving outside, so the clerk licked the tip of his pencil and he was ready to wait upon the officer’s requests without testing his patience—something on which sailors washing up in this port were often understandably short.

The officer took a big breath and presented his requests as if he had been thinking about little else for months:

‘I need a cup of tea, milk, no sugar, cooked food with anything but fish, and fresh fruit, anything just fresh; a toothbrush, soap, a hot bath, _hot_ , I say, a room with your largest bed, don’t be shy, with hot coal tucked between the sheets and a fire going by the time I go up; I need a washerwoman to take this,’ he dictated as he dumped a wet sack of clothes on the counter, ‘and a telegram sent to Claridge’s London to prepare the royal suite or the next best room they have by tomorrow night along with an appointment with the barber across the street; I also need a suitcase, size no smaller than 40 inches by 30, leather, no straps just handles; a cobbler to fix my boots, my flask filled with anything other than rum; stationery, one pellet of ink, two leather bound folders, a ten-pack of cheroots, _dry_ matches, and to be woken no earlier than nine at the risk of anyone who disturbs me suffering the most horrific death these shores have ever seen.’

He then dumped a handful of coins and notes, pounds, shillings, dollars, pesos, on the desk, which were more than enough to pay for all this, but he hardly cared to be precious about accuracy in his impatience.

‘Anything else, sir?’

‘No. Yes. A train ticket to London.’

*

Edward looked somewhat hurt.

‘What do _we_ need,’ Alfred corrected himself as they lay cuddled together in his soft, warm bed.

‘Time. Above all, I believe we need time.’

‘You wish to postpone the wedding.’

‘Postpone it? Alfred, I need to cancel it!’

‘I do not argue that you shouldn’t... anymore. Though, a postponement might win us enough time to call it off with minimal chaos to follow. How is that for an idea?’

‘It’s not bad. Better than my decisions of late.’

‘Oh, damn you, Drummond, why did you let them announce it?’

‘I wanted to make you—’

‘Jealous?’ Alfred guessed, amused in spite of himself. ‘Did you really think I was not already positively burning from jealousy before?’

‘You were?’ Edward asked, somehow making this sound like flirting.

Exasperated, Alfred kicked off his shoes and, damn the unkeyed door, he cuddled yet closer to Edward so that they were nose-to-nose.

‘I thought I was the one who made this mess,’ Alfred lamented.

‘I was so stupid.’

‘No, just…’

‘In love.’

Alfred could not contain his smiles.

‘I really need you,’ Edward said. ‘I don’t want to accept that we can never have a proper bond, like a marriage. I have never been one to frequent, uh… brothels or grimy alleyways or whatever people think a man like me does…’ he admitted, hiding his face for blushing from shame.

‘Who could doubt it? Alfred reassured him, though he had not been opposed to brief affairs—as brief as minutes, at times. ‘I would very much like to make this last, too,’ he admitted. ‘Alas, I do not know how. These are waters as unchartered to me as to you.’

‘I know that I need to get my strength back, and I need a clear mind.’

‘You might ask your doctor when he predicts your recovery to complete. It might win us the time we need.’

‘I almost wish I never recovered.’

‘Whyever would you wish that!?’

‘I have grown used to having you here with me each night. Especially now that we’ve…’

Alfred smiled into Edward’s kiss. ‘Something for something, I suppose,’ he lamented. ‘However troublesome.’

‘I cannot go back to a life of seeing but five minutes of you a week when I join Sir Robert for an audience, that is _if_ he remains the PM by the time I can go back to work.’

‘That is if you’re not off on your honeymoon later this month.’

Edward groaned softly. ‘There must be a way!’

‘There might,’ Alfred admitted but very tentatively. ‘But it’s not as easy as you think. This horrific episode has demonstrated it anew. Put me in my place, too.’

‘Your place?’

‘As nothing but a peripheral acquaintance of yours, as far as the world can know. As far as anyone can ever know. While were comfortably put under, to me, it was quite sobering.’

‘Charlotte said you were livid to be told later than others.’

‘I was,’ Alfred admitted, soulful his blue eyes growing dull with resentment at the memory. ‘Sir Robert had even gone to tell Her Majesty about your injury in person, but me, I had to learn well into the following day. I had missed breakfast, you see, heartbroken that you did not show up at the restaurant, so all the headlines escaped me until the Duchess of Buccleuch took pity on me. It was pity, not sympathy. Though, Miss Coke, she has been… very kind. Kinder than I deserve. But it doesn’t change the facts. When Lady Florence leaves her gloves, I hide behind the screen. She comes by day, so I come by night. What do you propose we do when you are no longer bed-bound? It is my only licence to visit you at this hour.’

‘We shall think of something.’

‘As if I haven’t considered every avenue…’

‘Why, we can meet privately whenever we wish. We need not be chaperoned. Gentlemen friends are allowed to get up to all sorts of business, anywhere, anytime.’

‘For decades? Unnoticed?’

Edward’s breath softly hitched.

‘If you think you planning to keep doing this for decades is in any way a discouragement, think again, my lord,’ he said with the good kind of cheek. ‘We are clever. We can lay plans. We could take occasional trips. We could pretend we have a project of some sort here and there. But, I must say I am also tired of living for the future—I did that all my life and if that bullet had killed me, all I would have achieved would have been to have wasted every single day. Well, except for our shared moments. So, forgive me, but I don’t know, we’ll manage somehow tomorrow, we shall manage next year, as in those distant decades. For now, let us think of the present of which we do have a grasp. Why could you not come to call whenever you please?’

‘Oh, Drummond…’ Alfred sighed, thinking about his father, who’s already noticed too much.

‘Why not? I normally pop over to Sir Robert’s once or even twice a day and it’s nothing of notice.’

‘Dru—'

‘You _could_ always just come by—’

‘But I came by _every day_ ,’ Alfred said, reliving the pain. ‘I was turned away repeatedly.’

‘…I know. I’m sorry about that. But that was a special circumstance.’

‘Did you wish it so?’

‘Me? I was unconscious!’

‘You can tell me. I disappointed you immensely. I understand you wanted to do nothing with me.’

‘Alfred, I missed you madly,’ Edward professed earnestly. ‘I asked for you as soon as I was revived. I _needed_ you, I didn’t even care whether I only had time left to say goodbye or that Florence was here and heard me.’

‘Was it her, then, who wouldn’t have me here?’

‘No.’

‘Really? I thought it would be.’

‘As far as she knows, you are a dear friend. Nothing more but nothing less. It was only my overimaginative sister’s doing.’

‘Your sister? But she has been ever so civil to me. In fact, she wrote me a letter of apology the size of the Andes and even said sorry again for not writing before. Why, she did not say. Have you any idea?’

Edward bit his bottom lip as he always did when he was troubled.

‘ _Have_ you?’ Alfred demanded.

‘She found your note. It was still in the pocket of my coat when it happened.’

‘Your sister _knows_?’

‘No, she doesn’t realise what the letter meant, really. In fact, she assumed the opposite.’

‘What is the opposite?’

‘That you…’ Edward hesitated, debating whether to reveal the morbid misunderstanding and make his sister and the man he loved get off on the wrong foot. It would make a great story to laugh about. At some other time, perhaps. ‘…that you and I had a recent disagreement and therefore I wouldn’t have wanted to see you. She was quite wrong. But then she always likes to make things more incredible than they are, and, well, she does not take to my bachelor friends as a rule. Hm.’

‘But we did quarrel, Drummond. Badly. The shock, the agony, the fear of losing you…’ Alfred remembered bitterly. ‘It really was hell. I thought I’d never get the chance to make it up to you.’

‘Do it now,’ Edward requested rather sweetly. ‘I cannot storm anywhere in this state. Nor would I. Unless oysters are involved.’

Alfred laughed wetly and collected himself with some effort. It helped that he was free to play with Edward’s untamed curls while they chatted.

‘Simply put, I was a fool. I suppose I thought you were too good to be true.’

‘…Say more such things,’ Edward flirted.

‘I thought we’ve established that I have earned your kisses.’

‘That, you have,’ Edward heartily agreed and went in for more.

‘…Is this not flattery enough?’

‘I just want to understand.’

‘I was not the only one to give mixed signals. One day you stay late in the Palace and the next you’re engaged? You fret about setting a date and then you kiss me by a lake like it’s nothing?’

Edward did not deny that was fair.

‘It was not to discourage you. It was to discourage myself,’ Alfred said cursing himself mentally all over again. ‘I was just a fool. I told myself that you were simply sowing your wild oats before, you know, building a family and becoming a respectable, influential gentleman, who, when you take your rightful position in society, could not possibly have this skeleton your closet.’

Edward pulled away with a frown. ‘Do you know gentlemen who do that?’ he questioned.

‘I know to stay away from them,’ Alfred declared carefully, though it was too cryptic to fully put Edward’s suspicions to rest. ‘And sometimes, to belittle their affections as an indiscretion. I was wrong, of course. Entirely, entirely mistaken! You have not a false bone in your body. Shamefully, it took nearly losing you, but I have to admit, the inside matches the splendid… heavenly… irresistible outside,’ he flirted, tracing lines on Edward’s ridiculously handsome face. ‘How am I doing?’

‘More, please.’

‘Oh!’ Alfred laughed until he had to shush himself, but he played along. ‘I have little else left to say other than I am sorry. You know I have loved you. In fact, no, I have loved you for longer than you think. Certainly longer than I dared to let you know. I’m only sorry you had to doubt it.’

‘Oh, why, _why_ did you wait for so long, Alfred?’ Edward lamented, clinging to his love, needing him more than ever, happy this was not just one of his dreams. ‘The greatest sin is a waste of time.’

‘Where did you learn that?’ Alfred asked, a bell vaguely rung in his memories—memories of a tall, dark, handsome man in his past talking just like that.

No. It was a coincidence. Drummond said he had never…

‘I think I learned it the second the bullet hit me, which was nearly too late,’ Edward said soberly. ‘It has given me such clarity as never before. You are right in that we ought to practice caution where needed, certainly, but it is as easy as that. Easier! I felt stuck, without choices, but it seems so simple to me now, so laughably evident that I cannot marry. It is an unthinkable notion. The fact that people do so, every day, for interest and greed and material pleasures and comforts that, when one faces the end of life, matter not a single bit! It is backwards and twisted and—not that the assassin deserves a medal for his act—I am grateful for what has happened for teaching me this once and for all. I was going to show.’

‘Sorry?’

‘At Ciro’s. I was. What the damn papers don’t say is this: when we came out of the debate, before the shot, Sir Robert offered to give me a ride. No doubt I would have been invited to celebrate the result of the vote with the most influential statesmen of the country, but I told him, plainly and proudly, that I could not go for I had an engagement. What’s all of Westminster when I had to see you? And I hope I would have told you exactly what I am telling you now, albeit in a less dishevelled state.’

‘Or a less horizontal one…’

Edward bit back a flustered grin at that scandalous remark. ‘I would have told you that you’ll have to lower your expectations for the circle you keep,’ he said.

Alfred frowned in confusion.

‘I must apologise, too.’

‘What for? Drummond, you haven’t done anything wrong, I don’t—’

‘Not yet but I apologise in advance for the future. Seems I will not be a successful politician after all. The promising young man the Times calls me may never exist. I won’t be such a “catch.” So, it’s up to you: can you _bear_ to remain friends with a lowly civil servant?’

‘Friends?’

‘And more.’

‘Isn’t your uncle a viscount?’

‘One I am yet to meet.’

‘You cannot complain about your fortune.’

‘Maybe, but I will not marry into a marquess’s family to match your status. After all, I have fallen for you and you have caught me safely enough.’

‘You wouldn’t be a lord if you did marry…’

‘Whose side are you on!?’

‘I’m just saying!’

‘Alfred…’

‘As you were saying?’ Alfred encouraged him once they stopped laughing.

‘This is what I should have said instead of leaving the restaurant like a petulant child: I know I will not advance to Sir Robert’s position in the political centre stage if I remain a bachelor—seems the mark of an unreliable person in the public’s view, I see that. Perhaps in another century, it won’t matter so much but then there might not be secretaries in that wild future or even the persecution we face. I cannot tell. Nor can I change the world of today. Or change the law. Or even change Sir Robert’s mind about organising his desk in a more efficient manner, to be honest. But I _can_ vow not to be such a coward anymore. I would rather run, and scratch and break myself than watch from the sides for one more day. In fact, I will never waste an opportunity again, not as long as I live.’

To prove his point, Drummond pulled Alfred closer and kissed him warmly again, who knew he could not help which choice he made.

‘You know I would love you even if you were but a pauper,’ he promised, helplessly in love. ‘I will do it. I will help. I will stand by you and support you, protect you and love you. How could I not? I am yours. We’re in this together. Just don’t do this to me again. No more cliffs. No more jumping. We live.’

‘That is all I want. To live through this life with you.’

‘A long life,’ Alfred vowed.

‘You’ll be pleased to know I have no intention of getting shot again. Unless… What are the chances that Lord Lothian carries a gun?’

This may have been a joke, but Alfred’s face did not reassure Edward in the slightest.

For now, however, he did not want to spare a single more thought to the wretched marquess or his chatty daughter or any of the threats they faced. Satisfied that they had had the talk that had been due, he kissed Edward until long after all the candles had burnt out.


	7. Prime Minister’s Failed Assassin Suspected of Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Drummond and Lord Alfred have laid bare their true feelings, it is time to start setting things into motion. But have they already raised far too much suspicion in the people in their lives?

_“…the prisoner shewn himself to be a maniac seeking only the gratification of his involuntary impulse, he made no attempt to secure his own safety by flight or escape, though he knew that the noise of his pistol must have attracted attention to the spot, though he knew he was seen by several of the gathered crowd, and though he saw Mr Drummond’s coat in flames, and his victim staggering under the shot. Reportedly, in addition to this deliberate display of his burning and fevered brain, the criminal since shewn no remorse when informed of the effects of his injury inflicted upon the heroic Private Secretary, a man of so mild a nature that he would not injure any being that had life.”_

‘Morning, Mr Drummond.’

‘Morning, Wood… Wood!?’

Edward’s eyes shot open and it was indeed to the sight of his butler opening up the shutters and bringing him his morning tea. He hugged the sheets tightly against himself. After that wonderous night of confessions and kisses with Alfred, he once again dreamed of coming to him in Scotland and this time, the dream continued somewhat beyond reading the classics. It didn’t help that Alfred’s scent lingered on the pillows long after he had slipped out at first light.

The tray clinked and rattled softly when the butler placed it on the bedside table. Edward turned and a vibrant colour caught his eye. The pair of blue gloves Florence had left.

‘These, sir?’ Wood asked.

Edward’s dreams finally retreated as reality set in. Although he wished he could just fill his hours with thoughts of the man he loved, he remembered that he was another day closer to the dreaded wedding. He had to set things into motion. For that, he needed time to think with a clear mind.

‘Wood?’ he said, sitting up.

‘Yes, sir?’ the butler responded, handing him his steaming cup. A splendid start… to a risky scheme.

‘I’ve no wish to upset the order of the house, but, and I shall explain this later, could you please ensure that I do not receive any visitors today other than the doctor and, later, Lord Alfred? He can only call after his duties at the Palace are complete, by which time I think I will be well-rested. I do not wish to stop him. Or Sir Robert. Or anyone from his office. But all others, including Lady Florence, must wait.’

A beat passed as the butler processed the unusual request.

‘Very good, sir,’ was all that he replied, though, showing absolutely no sign of surprise outwardly.

On the other hand, when Charlotte heard…

Meanwhile, at the Pagets’ home, Alfred failed to get in unnoticed once again. Lady Anglesey was just coming down the stairs for an early gardening session before breakfast. Alfred was going upstairs, or skipping, more like, indeed too elated to be frustrated. 

‘Good morning, sweetheart,’ she greeted him, pleasantly surprised at her son’s demeanour. ‘Or a great one, apparently.’

‘It is rather a splendid day, Mama,’ he said and placed a loud kiss on his mother’s cheek. ‘The sun is out! Isn’t it a wonderful, wonderful day?’ he said and spun her around in a dance move once or twice.

‘Alfred! Stop this at once or I shall tumble down the stairs into my end!’ she chastised him even though she was laughing loads. ‘What has you so cheery all of a sudden? Is that not what you were wearing for dinner last night? Alfred Henry Paget!’

‘Why it is,’ he said in mock surprise. ‘You’ve sharp eyes, Mama. I must change at once.’

‘Alfred! Alf —ohh, that boy…’

Charlotte stationed herself at the foot of Edward’s bed, arms crossed, and truly baffled. Her hair was not yet tamed for the day. She could have passed for an angered forest witch that had come to turn Edward into a pumpkin for messing with her. Even her butterknife glinted menacingly in her hand. Not only had she been disturbed mid-breakfast, but it was for a foolish reason, too.

He pretended nothing was amiss. He was just reading the paper, sipping his tea, a regular morning, really. Even the sun had come out. Nothing to see here.

‘Another fantastical article, I say,’ he grumbled lightly. ‘I mean, how could the assassin be a lunatic when he had the brainpower to time and place his attack just perfectly? Did you hear he had been loitering around Downing Street for a month? He was determined, not insane.’

‘He _hid_.’

‘Not at all. The Times writes, too, that the assassin made no attempt to flee and, to top it, he feels no shame or desire to deny his crime, only that he meant to shoot Sir Robert Peel. I feel so much better for it, really. Must be my mild nature.’

‘Lord Alfred,’ Charlotte clarified. ‘Hid. Behind the screen. From Florence,’ she spelled out.

And Edward was also hiding, behind his broadsheet.

‘Fine,’ she decided. ‘If you don’t tell me the truth, I shall just come to my own wild and absurd conclusions once again, based on what must be totally unreliable and fragmented clues. I really have been dreadfully bored stuck in the house discussing your wallpaper.’

Edward peeked above his paper, squinting warily up at her. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘That I will be so annoying you’ll want to throw _me_ out of the house next.’

‘I can… certainly… handle that.’

‘No, no, no, Edward. Do not misunderstand. You will unleash a beast. You will leave me no choice but to snoop and pry and prod and spy. I shall be no better than those nosy journalists. Do you want that for your favourite sibling?’

‘You are forfeiting that title more and more by the minute.’

The doorbell rang.

‘That’ll be Florence,’ he remarked.

They could hear Wood’s muffled voice and her chirpy and then confused one.

‘Wood’ll need reinforcement.’

Charlotte stretched it for as long as she could, purely to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

‘Look, if you don’t have to chaperone us,’ Edward reasoned, ‘You are free to go out. You can even go to out in the evenings again. Lord Alfred and I need not be chaperoned, after all.’

 _If only she knew_ , Edward thought and felt himself flush as red as his dressing robe.

If _he_ had only known she had been sneaking out almost nightly anyway… She had to admit, she preferred to keep Florence away, too, but she was not pleased to be kept in the dark. There was something unusual about Edward’s friendship with Lord Alfred Paget.

‘Fine, but I will find you out,’ she warned and went down to reinforce the butler’s message, saying it was doctor’s orders, until eventually Florence got back in her carriage and left Edward alone. For now.

Lady Anglesey could tut all she wanted, but Alfred had already skipped upstairs faster than she cared to chase him. Henry joined her in the garden a later, and the conversation turned to Alfred’s sudden high spirits soon enough.

‘Was he really that jovial?’ Henry asked, even more suspicious of his son’s new habits.

‘He really was awfully happy about something,’ Lady Anglesey replied, snapping off some nice roses from a bush. ‘Isn’t that nice? It would seem whatever ailed him has been well and truly resolved.’

‘He didn’t say anything else to you?’

‘Not a word. But he was still wearing his evening clothes if that is any indicator…’

They shared a knowing look.

‘Why, Mama, what does that indicate?’ Adelaide popped out of the bushes, surprising them.

‘Addie! Have you been eavesdropping on grown-ups again?!’

‘You’re not grown-ups, you are my parents. What has Alfred been up to? I want to know! Nooo! I want to know!!!’

But the girl had already been ushered out of earshot by her exasperated governess.

Once alone again, Lord Anglesey was huffing and stomping with his good leg in frustration.

‘Oh, Henry, do not fret, it’s not that bad, surely. It’s only Alfred.’

‘Precisely. I know my boys do not pay heed to my warnings, but I thought at least he was cleverer than to behave so irresponsibly.’

‘As you did in your youth, you mean? Oh, darling, as long as Alfred is happy, I say, good. I remember when you would follow me around ballrooms, a married man chasing a married woman, and yet I was so alarmed and so excited nothing could have been an icy enough shower to change my mind. What can I say? Alfred is our son, too. We have to accept it.’

‘So, you, too, think he has a beau.’

‘If he does, perhaps it is for the better. I must admit, I was beginning to worry he would be a perpetual singleton.’

‘But it cannot be a suitable girl if he has not introduced her to us the proper way.’

‘Perhaps it is someone we already know.’

‘All the more reason. What’s to hide? Is she married? Is she a dancer or something?’

‘Hm. Perhaps,’ Lady Anglesey pondered. ‘Or, perhaps he may be more cautious about these things than his brothers. _Especially_ having learned from his brothers’ mistakes.’

‘I hope to God you are correct. Sometimes I cannot keep up with our children’s troubles!’ Henry grumbled even while Adelaide somehow achieved that her governess fell into the water fountain. 

‘Love is not trouble.’

‘Love is the biggest trouble there is, my dearest!’

‘Oh, you… For now, I ask only that you try to keep up with me, darling,’ Lady Anglesey said with a chuckle. ‘I want to gather some lavender before it begins to rain again. We cannot trust the sun at this time of year.’

‘It shan’t rain, not when you’re out in the sun.’

‘Oh, Henry, you flirt…’

‘Me what? A flirt? Never!’ he jested, and they disappeared in the bushes lest they made their staff blush.

Far from looking for trouble, Alfred had a tedious day of planning an upcoming banquet for newly promoted officers. He normally studied the guest list meticulously, so that he could have the most interesting (and handsome) officers seated around himself. He hardly cared for it this time and just gave his approval for whatever Her Majesty and Prince Albert came up with, only suggesting that the officers might be happier to be on their feet as they mingled freely rather than sitting down for hours and getting restless. Commended on his excellent point, he was dismissed for the day and he certainly went happily.

Alas, on his way out, he nearly lost his balance because he spotted someone on the balcony. Three years of not-arranged-but-not-entirely-uncalculated rendezvous with Drummond were too ingrained in Alfred and his first instinct was to scold him for being out of his house when he should have been recovering. Upon approaching, however, he realised it was only the Duchess of Sutherland on the balcony, all alone and definitely crying. Torn between being a good friend and wanting to rush to Drummond, he hesitated to go on.

‘Don’t,’ someone else said softly behind him.

‘Miss Coke?’ he gasped, not expecting the young lady to find him alone in the hallways. She had a habit of showing up when he was on his way to be with Drummond awfully frequently.

‘I did not mean to surprise you,’ she apologised in a whisper. ‘It’s just that I suspect the duchess prefers to be alone at present.’

‘And yourself? Did you fancy a stroll without your great-aunt?’

‘I was just looking for my bagpipe. I seem to have lost it.’

Alfred had a strong suspicion it could have been anyone, from the queen to the scullery maids, who took it from her room and shredded the blasted instrument into pieces.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said with sympathy. ‘Come, let us go down before anyone sees us and starts to gossip.’

‘They are welcome to do so,’ she said with a sad little smile. ‘I know you are such kind friends with Mr Drummond. You need not fear I nurture such ideas.’

Alfred stopped dead in his tracks.

‘I’m sorry?’

Miss Coke seems to have realised what she had implied, and her hand shot to her mouth.

‘I… I mean… I just… I…’ she stuttered, ‘I know you and I are friends.’

‘You said.’

‘Yes. And that I can trust you.’

‘Ye-es….’

‘And, you know, I know that you can be trusted. Around women, I mean.’

Alfred’s head was spinning. This could have meant nothing and _everything_. She was the least worldly person he knew. It cannot be… no, that was impossible.

‘That’s very kind of you to say,’ he said simply and walked on.

She, however, debated whether to speak or not. As nearly always, she decided to do so:

‘It is him that you are going to see again, are you not?’ she asked.

Alfred turned on his heels. ‘Miss Coke?’

‘It’s alright, you can trust me, too.’

‘Are you saying this because you saw us in—

‘Scotland?’

‘—the lake? WHAT!?’

Miss Coke’s eyes were as wide as the moon, though her fright was nothing compared to that of Alfred’s. Before he could interrogate her or do anything else, she fled in the other direction.


	8. Reason v. Revenge: Trial May Create Precedence Protecting Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Alfred urges caution but Drummond knows there's no time to waste. What exactly they are facing, he reveals over cigars, scotch, and smooches.

“… _Sir Robert Peel intimated to our reporters that this case may result in a legal precedence or even legislative amendments to the present Offences Against the Person Act, which was assembled with his leadership as Home Secretary under His Grace the Duke of Wellington. His plans depend on the outcome of the impending criminal trial against Mr McNaughton. Witnesses to be called on the stand may include Mr Drummond’s physicians to testify of the damage caused, and his colleagues and friends who may swear to his excellent good character.”_

Alfred was still baffled when he was standing on Drummond’s doorstep.

He was in luck. No Lothian carriage. He was early, though. He did not chase after Miss Coke at the Palace. He would have been unwise to draw attention to himself. Heaven knew he did not need any more. First his father questioning his motives, then his brothers maybe catching on to his lack of skirt-chasing, and now this? Before Drummond, Alfred had hidden his affairs with airtight assuredness. Did love make him so careless?

“ _There was a love between David and Jonathan that surpassed the love of women. I did not know the Bible could be so… tender_.”

That’s what she told him before that wretched dinner at Ciro’s. And to enjoy himself. He had not thought anything of it then. Now, however, he added two and two together and realised it was yet another of Miss Coke’s repeated insinuations.

Trust her? Had he a choice?

The butler let him in. Alfred was keen to rush to Edward’s side and tell him and to make up a plan, and of course, though their first kisses by the lake were heavenly, to be more cautious in the future. Alas, he was immediately accosted at the foot of the stairs by yet another person.

‘Is that you again,’ Charlotte asked from the doorway of her studio. ‘Lord Alfred?’ she added in order not to sound too hostile.

It did not help Alfred’s nerves that she was cleaning a sharp-looking palette knife with a dirty cloth like she might plan on using them on the visitor.

‘I’m afraid it is,’ he replied, forcing a winning smile to go with it. ‘Have you any objections, Miss Drummond?’

‘No…’

Alfred sensed the lie, or at least that there was something more to this.

‘I thought we were friends,’ he said.

‘Eh… early days yet. It could still go either way.’

‘Ah. Because,’ he replied, therefore, given he was already agitated, ‘it would be a shame if someone told your brother of your early morning walks.’

Though close in age to Miss Coke, his meaning was not lost on her. Charlotte smiled like she was actually imagining strangling him on the spot.

‘What were you doing behind the screen last night?’ she asked point-blank.

‘The screen?’

‘Yes, the privacy screen in Edward’s room, behind which you hid when his fiancée showed up whilst I covered for you. I rather feel like an accomplice now. In what, I cannot help but wonder, as you can imagine.’

‘Why don’t you ask your brother?’

‘I have.’

‘And?’

‘He won’t say.’

‘Hm, well, if he won’t…’

‘All the greater my curiosity is.’

‘I had simply spilled something on my clothes. I was embarrassed.’

‘Hm. Not too embarrassed to stay the entire night again.’

‘Oh, you were in, for a change, to know about that?’

‘I was. So?’

‘Ah, if I were as curious as you, I wouldn’t ask me.’

‘No?’

‘No, I would have eavesdropped—morally inferior but so much more efficient than this odd conversation.’

‘It might surprise you, but I had better things to do.’

‘Really?’

Lord Alfred scrutinised her and, to his surprise, he saw true signs of frustration in there. She was truly ignorant about last night. What a relief! Alfred relaxed.

‘Drummond does not care about stains,’ he said. ‘But he does care about punctuality, and I am making him wait, so, I should…’

‘Just a moment, Lord Alfred.’

He stopped and turned as if it had been the queen ordering him about. She stepped closer for confidentiality in case the staff came.

‘What part of my brother’s life exactly were you hoping to determine?’

‘Excuse me?!’

‘You wrote to him to that effect,’ Charlotte clarified, not one to be silenced by an indignant “excuse me.” ‘On account of that dinner you had. Did you have a misunderstanding? What about?’

‘It is in the past.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Where did you go that night?’ he countered, on the offensive. ‘From where you got that petal in your hair. Red rose—did I see right?’

Charlotte was almost impressed that she met her match in someone so audaciously reluctant to share his secrets, even to his host that had the power to kick him out if she so wished.

‘That reminds me. Thank you for the flowers. I chopped them up,’ she replied to that, deciding they had gone far enough.

For now.

Alfred was glad to be dismissed and made to skip up to Drummond’s bedroom.

‘Lord Alfred?’

‘ _Yes_ , Miss Drummond?’ he replied through gritted teeth from well up the stairs. _What now!?_

‘Where are you going?’

‘To see Drummond, of course. Where else?’

‘He’s in the study,’ she said and retreated to her studio.

Alfred frowned. Was there a trick in this? He did not see any reason why she would lie to him about this. Therefore, he made his way behind the foyer to find the study. Indeed, there were male voices coming from it. For a second, Alfred feared it was the Marquess of Lothian who was visiting, or Sir Robert, but it did not sound like either of them or their age.

‘…anyway, that’s my task for the time being. You just get well, Drummond.’

‘Thank you for looking in again. I really appreciate it. And do please tell Sir Robert I thank him.’

‘I will.’

Alfred felt awkward, just exploring the house on his own, so he hid when the visitor stepped out of the study and left. From what he caught of him, it was a young man with glasses on his nose and a heavy folder in his arms. In the study, he found Edward sitting at his desk in his nightshirt, and tartan dressing robe and slippers, and with his head in his hands.

‘Drummond?’

Edward looked up, rather a lot less troubled than he had seemed. His face positively lit up for Alfred.

‘Alfred!’ he rejoiced. ‘You’re here already!’

‘Should I be jealous?’ he asked with humour, indicating the doorway where whoever visited had left.

Edward cracked up. ‘Of Stephenson? Hardly.’

‘Who is he, again?’

‘He’s just the man under me.’

‘That is my ambition,’ Alfred flirted outrageously.

Indeed, Edward went so red he had to rub it away from his face.

‘H-h-he is the _Junior_ Private Secretary,’ he clarified in mortification, but he was thoroughly enjoying this rapport. Indeed, when he came around the desk to Lord Alfred, he dropped his voice, too. ‘I missed you.’

‘I didn’t. You never left my mind. Or my heart.’

Edward bit his bottom lip. He had never been courted like this. Was this what it should have felt like all this time between the betrothed?

‘Alfred, after last night…’

‘You’re not regretting it, are you?’

‘What? No, never! I just wondered whether I m-might I greet you with a… a…. um… a…’

Ah. Alfred realised what Edward kept glancing at were his lips. Unmistakeably so.

‘Just a moment,’ Alfred said.

He made sure there was no staff or madwoman with a murderous weapon prying in the hallway, and then closed the door. He then went back to his love to greet Edward with a kiss on the hand, and then his cheek, and only then, when Edward was positively thirsting for it, on the lips.

How had he gone all day without this, he had no clue.

‘Good evening, you,’ Alfred whispered to him sweetly. ‘Should you be out of bed?’

‘I grasp any excuse to return to my desk. You know me.’

‘That, I do, though I do not approve.’

‘You would prefer me to be bed-bound?’

‘I would prefer you in bed, yes. Whether bound or not, well, that is a preference of which I ask you to inform me in advance.’

Edward’s eyes went wide.

‘Forgive me, please do shush me if I go too far,’ Alfred laughed at his reaction.

But Edward could have exploded from joy, even if he found it hard to find his voice. After all, this was unserious flirtation, was it not?

‘I’m fine, to answer your question. More than fine. Forget feeling faint. After last night, I feel like I could grow wings and fly across oceans!’

‘How much coffee did you have?’

‘It is your effect.’

Alfred’s heart swelled. But then, he thought he spotted a heartbreakingly familiar handwriting on Edward’s desk, though he tried to perish the thought at once. ‘What did Stephenson want?’ he questioned.

‘Oh,’ Edward said, his smile fading a tad. ‘Merely to bring me some reports from the foreign office and a note from Sir Robert.’

‘I hope he is not making you work.’

‘He just wishes me well. He feels responsible, you see.’

‘Well, if he had better politics, he would not be at risk of an assassination…’

‘Oh!’

‘Only joking,’ Alfred laughed.

‘Hm. Politics is a joke right now, that, I will admit. I cannot believe his own party is giving him so much headache for helping the Irish. Poor Stephenson—Sir Robert is in an irritable mood.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘He called me “son” four times in his letter! That’s excessive even for him. Though he mentions he wants to call a meeting with Aberdeen and Captain Gordon, which should be interesting.’

Alfred’s heart flipped. The handwriting. The captain. ‘Gordon? Is he… in England?’

‘He can hardly attend a meeting in Whitehall in spirit, silly.’

Alfred gave a non-committal hum, but this bothered him. He shook it off and focused on the man he had longed for all day long, who was still grumbling about politics, with his adorable serious face on:

‘…I fear Sir Robert’s last act in office may be to push through a legislation because of the assassin.’

‘What sort?’

‘An insanity clause.’

Alfred was aghast. ‘They are not going to hang that vile man who did this to you!?’

Edward placed soothing hands on Alfred’s shoulders. ‘I don’t care a fig about it, truth be told. I just want to hold you in my arms at last—’

‘Just…’ Alfred stepped away. ‘Windows,’ he explained with nervous pleasantness, and went to close all the shutters. ‘We cannot be too careful.’

‘Of?’

‘Our privacy.’

‘Is this locked room not sufficient?’

‘I just don’t want to be seen.’

‘It is hard to be seen by someone in the garden from here. Impossible if no one is presently there,’ Edward jested. ‘Which, there is not.’

‘We cannot be certain.’

‘Are you being overly cautious again?’

‘Overly?’

‘Why, yes, I believe it is positively criminal to deprive one of your delightful sight.’

‘…by a third party, I meant, you… flirt. Did you spend the whole day composing lines like that?’

Edward was giddily proud of himself. ‘Truly, I do not think anyone can see us.’

‘You never know,’ Alfred insisted, shutting the last of them before circling back to the desk and Edward.

The shadows of anxiety cast on his face were accentuated by the candlelight. Edward sensed more such jokes were to be saved for another time.

‘Alfred?’

‘Hm?’

‘Did you have a trying day at the Palace?’

‘Somewhat,’ Alfred replied, deciding not to trouble him with Miss Coke’s nosiness for now. ‘This banquet should be a bore.’

‘Banquet?’

‘Oh, yes, there is to be a banquet at the Palace tomorrow. For some officers. Navy, mostly.’

‘Ah. So you will be tied down tomorrow?’

‘Only until sometime in the evening. I will try to slip away as soon as I can. But enough about work.’

‘Indeed. I believe this might help you unwind…’

Needing it rather a lot, Alfred did not deny a true lover’s embrace. This was far more welcome than humour. Edward’s warm, sure hands were a magic pill against Alfred’s anxiety. Their kisses soon became heated and Alfred would have swept the stuff off the neatly organised desk if he did not believe it would have been the worst crime committable against Edward Drummond, just to see if he was well enough for more yet.

‘Here,’ Edward said, inclining his head towards the couch by the fireplace, as if he had read his mind.

‘You _really_ ought to be in bed,’ Alfred noted as he saw how gingerly Edward sat down.

‘Do stop fretting, my—’

Edward meant to say something, something that made him blush.

‘Your…?’ Alfred prompted him, endeared. ‘What were you going to say?’

‘My… my beloved. If that is permissible.’

Alfred was almost numb from happiness. He aimed his next kisses at the sweet spot behind Edward’s ear, which had all the effects he hoped it would.

‘I know you must recover but it is getting increasingly hard to keep from being just a little naughty…’ he whispered hotly to him.

Edward shivered with pleasure and nearly gave in, whatever Alfred meant.

‘Perhaps a drop of that scotch instead if you would?’ he suggested instead.

Alfred poured for two and they lit a couple of cheroots to enjoy while they reclined on the couch in the comfort of each other’s arms and exchanged as many kisses as they wished. Alone, no chaperone, the world in slumber except for them.

‘I could do this every day,’ Edward sighed happily.

Alfred let himself dream for a second. ‘That would be something,’ he said. ‘Though, I would fear your sister’s wrath.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘She only accosted me as I came in.’

‘What!? I’m so sorry, I shall speak to her at once.’

‘No need,’ Alfred stopped him with a gentle hand and pulled him back on the couch. ‘It was for last night. I admit, it must have seemed strange from her perspective to see me hide from your fiancée so stupidly.’

‘On that note,’ Edward said, sitting up to talk business. ‘I asked my sister and my staff to keep Florence from visiting for at least a couple of days.’

‘Oh? That’s why I didn’t see a carriage. Is this wise?’

‘I don’t know, but I need to think. We have no time to waste. We need to plan.’

‘Alright. But I confess I am confused. Why can you not simply ask to postpone the date? Surely, given the circumstances, you have every right to do so.’

Edward tipped his tumbler this way and that, watching the amber liquor splash helplessly against the crystal glass.

‘I would,’ he said quietly. ‘If I hadn’t already requested to postpone the whole blasted thing thrice in the past year.’

‘Excuse me? Drummond!?’

‘I know. I’m awful.’

‘You have been engaged for that long?’

‘No. Yes. No. Well…’

‘Drummond, when did you exactly… I mean, how did you…?’

‘How did I get myself into this trouble? Well, that’s a sorry tale and I am not sure I come out of it splendidly.’

‘Do tell. Please. I should love to know everything about you.’

‘Even the bad parts?’

‘Everything,’ Alfred reassured him, with a kiss, too. ‘I must say I cannot fathom how an independent, capable, and affluent man like you could ever have his hand forced in such a manner. It makes me rather anxious. I wonder whether I have already made the mistake of accidentally leading someone on!’ he joked but then he thought about Miss Coke and the fact that she knew too much about him, enough to blackmail him, surely, especially if that wretched aunt of hers is in the picture.

‘It is not unheard of,’ Edward reasoned. ‘The Duke—’

‘Wellington acted out of honour and he had every right to act otherwise. Now, he is stuck in a miserable marriage of his own doing. I’ve no sympathy for that, and nor do you.’

‘Excuse me, I should think I am honourable.'

‘Who could doubt it? But even so, even with your honour and your proclivity to self-sacrifice, my darling, you are adamant on going back on your promise to marry. What kept you before? I must know all the facts if we are doing this together.’

‘Alright,’ Edward gave in, steeling himself to reveal the whole unpleasant business. ‘But you mustn’t repeat any part of this to anyone.’

‘Naturally.’

Edward took a big swig of his scotch.

‘You ask me when exactly I got engaged. I do not know if I can put a definite date on it,’ he said. ‘The nagging and nudging started sometime the summer before I met you, just before I started working under Sir Robert. Eventually, it had gone on for so long that one night, my father called me into his study and spoke a lot less vaguely than Florence. She sometimes pried about the number of children I wanted or whether I thought spring or summer weddings were more splendid. Papa talked money.’

Edward’s eyes were dull with the memory.

‘I am not suggesting that I was tricked like a fool. I had always known there was an understanding between our families, I just didn’t know it meant me. I thought it meant Charlotte.’

‘Charlotte was going to marry Florence?’

Edward chuckled. ‘Hush, you…'

‘I assume there is a brother.’

‘Lord John, yes. He plans on retiring from the army when he marries or when he takes over as the marquess.’

‘Well, perhaps if your sister had a husband, he might cure her ill-temper,’ Alfred joked but Edward looked so forlorn. ‘Or not?’

‘As if.’

‘Does Lord John find her as disagreeable and callous as I have learned she can be?’

‘On the contrary. Apparently, while I was travelling on my grand tour, he proposed to her.’

‘She rejected him,’ Alfred guessed.

‘Uh… yes, in a manner of speaking.’

‘What?’

‘She stabbed him.’

‘WHAT!?’

‘Just a little.’

‘She stabbed him just a _little_!?’

‘Shh! He recovered. Don’t worry about it—’

‘BUT—’

‘So, that caused a bit of offence that my parents bent over backwards to remedy. Luckily, Lothian had a daughter, too. But, Charlie, my eldest brother, with the bank, had already got married, Arthur went into the church, Berkeley into the military, so… that left me. And I could see that if I were to advance in politics, I would not be able to do so as a sworn bachelor, which I already sensed was my destiny. Papa reassured me that there was no harm in going along with it while he and Lothian were in talks about some joint investment. I agreed to it, reasoning that I did not imagine my own Papa would wish my unhappiness.’

‘He doesn’t sound to me like someone who concerns himself with your happiness at all. You said he wouldn’t mind if you disliked Florence.’

‘Which I do not. If I had the ability to be truly infatuated with Florence, the deal would have been ideal. I should have read the small print. What I failed to spot at the time was that Lothian was acting out of revenge. He doesn’t like to be played for a fool. So, the truth is, he got Papa to sign away Charlotte’s dowry in its entirety in order to let himself move it into his estate for profit, in the hopes of turning it back into our family, via her marriage to John, with a capital. Well, my marriage to Florence, now.’

‘I do not know what that means.’

‘In layman terms, if I marry Florence, I get the sum back and more, including Charlotte’s presently lost dowry. On the other hand, if I don’t marry Florence, I’ll be fine, but Charlotte’s assets begin and end with the clothes on her back and I suppose her paintings.’

‘By God.’

‘I know.’

‘Was this necessary?’

‘No,’ Edward said with a light little scoff. ‘It was just a business venture. Like any other.’

Alfred remembered Harriet gloating about Florence’s good fortune in her fiancée. Of course, Edward’s worth was considerable. There was an error in the equation, however. He also had a heart.

‘But it is not like any other business… whatever!’

‘Is it not? You forget, most families are not like the Pagets, and I do not mean your father’s diabolical politics. Our way is more typical than yours.’

Alfred was lost for words. He could not imagine his own parents ever pulling anything like this. They barely scolded him for calling on Drummond by night, which was nothing compared to his siblings’ escapades. It was true, because of that and because he never meant to find a wife, he quite forgot what a heartless business it was for many, regardless of wealth or class.

‘No wonder your sister’s a grumpy one,’ he remarked with some humour.

‘Oh, good grief, she does not know a thing about this. Do not tell her, do not tell anyone—’

‘But of course not, my love,’ Alfred reassured him with a kiss.

‘Hence why I have taken her in,’ Edward explained. ‘Charlotte thinks she’s a faux bohemian because she comes from privilege unlike true starving artists, or whatever sort of life she romanticises. It is true, she has not known poverty but little does she know that she is at the mercy of her family’s allowance or she has to marry someone who can fully support her. And who's going to do that without a dowry? It would take a special person to take her on, or a fool, or both. It is not as if she can own an estate, not without a reform in parliament. I have not had the heart to tell her. But that’s why I am so lenient with her. Out of guilt. I spoil her with a large allowance about which Papa cannot know, and I let her wear trousers and make art and go to soirees at ungodly hours.’

‘Until dawn?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Alfred mumbled.

Edward filed that away as another thing about which to talk to Charlotte.

‘Before you ask,’ he continued, ‘I thought about creating a trust fund but I’m afraid Papa would find out and take it away or bar her from moving the money somehow. It is his bank, after all, and his unmarried daughter. I do not trust other banks, either, because Lothian has a lot of influential people in his pocket. So, here we are. My sister is supposed to be one of the richest women in London and yet… This is such a slap in her face, and it’s all my fault.’

‘It is not.’

‘I am not without fault, no point in denying it. I had a hand in this. I wouldn’t call myself a man if I tried to deny my responsibility or accountability.’

‘Isn’t there a way she could be convinced to rethink Lord John Kerr’s offer?’

‘Pfft. Knowing her nature, even if she liked him, I am afraid she would run away the second she learned that some men have robbed her of her choices. She will turn her back on me and hate me forever. As for Florence…’

Edward rubbed his tired eyes, feeling like a prize idiot.

‘Somewhere along the line, I had agreed to one too many dances, one to many promenades. So, she started demanding we set a date sometime last autumn. By that time, I had completely fallen for you, so I eventually went to confront Lothian about this, assuming he could be prevailed upon as a gentleman to have got over his spite of my sister.’

‘She stabbed his son.’

‘Oh, John was back on his horse the next day! He was even a good sport about it, really!’ Edward huffed as if he had had to repeat this a hundred times before. ‘However, Lord Lothian had neither forgotten nor forgiven us. Whatever I hoped to achieve, I was sorely disappointed. I made it worse, in fact. If I had not been invited to France, you would have returned to find me a married man. I disappointed you anyway – of course, who should I find coming out of that sordid meeting at his club but you? The man I burned for even then as I burn for this minute.’

Alfred remembered that day and remembered not speaking to Drummond for weeks and giving him the cold shoulder all the way to France, for which he now felt terrible.

‘Oh, my darling, but, surely, the quicker solution is to simply bail you out,’ he suggested.

‘I am past that. It is no longer about the money. It is personal. Lothian means to prove a point, to assert that he still has power over me. It is spite or pride or both.’

‘Hm. He is an uncommonly unpleasant man, to be sure.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Not well. I have seen him at the club, but we’ve never spoken.’

‘Keep it that way, I heartily advise you.’

‘Hm. So, it is really him of whom we must beware. And your parents. How will they take it if you do not marry after all?’

‘I am not worried about them. I am worried about my sister. Even though I have already compensated Papa in full, they’ll come and get her, I think. They’ll say I am irresponsible. Charlotte would be kept far away from the things she loves. No more museums, no more art, just business.’

‘The business of marriage.’

‘Yes. If it is not to John, it is to someone else. She must set a good example to our little sister, Anne. There. Are you fatally disappointed in me?’

‘Never.’

‘I don’t see why not. I am a wretched fool. If I ask for a postponement, Lothian will spit fire. If I break it off, I ruin Florence, my sister, my parents’ trust, and highly possibly my career for no one who knows the story would trust my word ever again. If I marry… no, I cannot even think about it. Either way, I am doomed.’

‘Unless,’ Alfred thought aloud, ‘Florence breaks it off with you.’

‘Come again?’

‘Your families might think of marriage as a business, but it is anything but. Hm. I suppose you could marry and proceed with an annulment or a divorce later down the line but—’

‘Alfred!’

‘Preventing all that nonsense, a breach of a promise to marry is preferable. It takes two to make an engagement, though, doesn’t it? Hmm… I mean, Florence can’t be sued, she doesn’t owe anyone anything. If she simply happened to change her mind, everyone would have to just accept it and do as she says,’ Alfred heaved a heavy sigh. ‘As if that would ever happen!’

Edward, however, perked right up.

‘That’s it!’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘ _She_ has to break it off with _me_! It would take the blame off my family. It would release me and protect Charlotte at the same time. The entire agreement would be made futile!’

‘But Drummond. Come, have some sense. She is devoted to you. She has already redesigned your soon-to-be marital bedroom, for heaven’s sake.’

‘Do not underestimate her proneness to be contrary. I have already offended her by telling my butler to shut her out. And thus, my plan is already afoot. I am only sorry it is necessary.’

‘Drummond, stop.’

‘This is perfect!’

‘ _Stop_ , please, think! Or better yet, find a mirror.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You are just the perfect man! You are brilliant, good-natured, wealthy, and I cannot find a way to describe how attractive you are without vulgar superlatives. How could you achieve that she would ever want to break it off with you?’

‘I-I don’t know! What if we found her a better match? Someone with a title?’

‘In two weeks!?’

‘Then I will disappoint her. I will repel her. I might even hurt her. I can tell her the truth, also!’

‘Not the truth!’

‘Not _that_ truth. But I can tell her I cannot marry her for love.’

‘What!?’

‘I can even say I fell for someone else. She certainly won’t want me then.’

‘Have reason, Drummond—'

‘It’s not reason, it’s her feelings I must appeal to. She is so emotional!’

‘Not all women are—’

‘I _know_ , but _she_ is. Lothian cannot force her to walk down the aisle just to spite me. She is a good person and has not a vindictive bone in her body. She also does not settle for anything less than she deserves.’

‘Including the wallpaper.’

‘Especially the blasted wallpaper!’ Edward huffed with a laugh. ‘I have _never_ been romantic with her. She’ll piece it all together and I am confident she will understand that it is for the best.’

‘Will she?’

‘I believe she has the empathy.’

‘I don’t like the thought of my future depending on your fiancée’s empathy for you loving another. This could be disastrous.’

‘But it’s worth the risk.’

Alfred did not doubt this as their eyes met. He had only had to worry about evading servants and not putting his true feelings in writing before. This was much riskier. Considerable sums of money had changed hands, a lady’s heart would be surely broken, and they were about to anger the Marquess of Lothian, who by all accounts was not a man with a sense of humour.

‘Here’s what I think. We must stay c—’

‘If you’re going to say cautious, I—’

‘—careful. Trust me on this, we simply must. I still say start with the doctor. We shall proceed depending on what he says. It wouldn’t hurt if you feigned you’re a bit worse for wear than you actually are when he checks up on you tomorrow. Then, you face Florence accordingly. I shall talk to Miss Coke.’

‘Miss Coke?’

‘I understand they are good friends,’ Alfred said vaguely, not wanting to retell his earlier awkward interaction with the girl before he knew more. ‘I happen to have that in common with your fiancée,’ he shivered. ‘It might be useful to get her sympathies on our side early. I believe in the comfort and support of friends. Only then do we stoop somewhere lower if we must. And if despite that, Florence should still want to take you…’

‘I will just have to break it off myself anyway and endure Lothian’s revenge and a colossal scandal.’

‘Precisely.’

Edward lay back on the couch feeling so sick with anxiety he might not have to fake anything when the doctor next checked up on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Duke of Wellington's marriage went like this: young lad fancies girl, girl's family won't allow the match, lad goes off and becomes the military hero of the century, girl frets, hero returns to find girl sickly and ill-natured but marries her anyway out of honour. They live miserably ever after.
> 
> Fun fact: Wellington's brother was Alfred's mum's ex-hubby and he duelled Henry Paget once. No one was hurt (except for some reputations lol) but honour was settled.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about banking don't @ me. This is the extent of my having tried.


	9. A Fairy-Tale Betrothal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conniving for Love - Day 1. Alfred does some damage control but just as he feels on track, an old friend shows up. Meanwhile, Edward is buttering up the doctor for a sick note to get out of the wedding. Easy!

_“… some are calling for the wedding between Mr Drummond, saviour of Sir R. Peel, and the Lady Florence, daughter of the Marquess of Lothian, to be held in St Paul’s Cathedral, where a much more sizeable crowd may be accommodated to attend the ceremony. At present, the preparations are well underway for the wedding to be officiated by the groom’s brother Rev. Arthur Drummond, on the fourteenth of this month at Charlton, Kent. The bride’s mother, the Marchioness of Lothian, kindly revealed to our magazine that the couple were friends as children and reunited as adults. “We were all extremely shocked by the assassination attempt, but we are hoping to keep the date,” she told our magazine. On the day, Lady Florence will wear a white gown, a colour popular since Her Royal Majesty Queen Victoria wore the colour at her own wedding to His Grace Prince Albert. We have still not been able to accrue word from Mr Drummond himself._ ”

The banquet at the Palace was a splendid affair. Far from accepting the end of the season, the occasion brightened up everyone, particularly the ladies, for the theme of the evening was in honour of newly promoted military officers.

The throne room was, therefore, full of young, fit, and uniformed men.

Once, this would have been his heaven, but Lord Alfred was not particularly moved. Even among the impressive selection of colourful costumes pinned to the brim with sparkling decorations, he swanned among the crowd in his bright red dress uniform positively glowing from happiness. Drummond’s effect, of course.

Naturally, Drummond’s injury cast a cloud over things, but he was getting better each day. Then, there was the woefully public engagement that had to be managed with the utmost sensitivity. However, Edward was adamant he would not go to the church if it was the last thing he did.

And where there’s a will, there’s a way.

There was just one slight problem that they had not expected to have to tackle, one in the only yellow gown in the room and extra ringlets in her hair.

‘Miss Coke?’ Alfred stepped over to her.

‘Oh! I’m sorry, I should find my aunt—’ she tried, moving to flee, but he had already discretely pulled her away from escape routes.

‘About yesterday…’

‘I was talking nonsense. Foolish little me,’ she said with a nervous laugh that could have fooled no one. One look from Lord Alfred and she dropped it. ‘I have always been a terrible liar.’

‘That can be a gift,’ he reassured her. ‘Shall we take a turn?’

They were walking the long way round the room to keep their chat private.

‘Just so I know,’ Alfred began delicately, ‘there were only two occasions on which you were privy to an intimate moment between myself and Drummond, were there?’

‘There were more?’ she heard herself ask.

‘I hope that is a yes. Yes?’

‘I’m sorry, I should not have said anything,’ she bemoaned, absolutely mortified. ‘I should not have seen anything.’

‘…what exactly did you see?’

‘I did not mean to pry. I did not know I would stumble upon you at all that evening.’

‘But you did, so…’

‘I assumed you had disappeared into the smoking-room, or retired, given you had been up all the previous night. I had foolishly been trapped in the drawing-room. Soon enough, Mr Beattie reached the limits of my tolerance for his epic. Prince Ernst had slipped away. Then the Duchess. As soon as my aunt fell asleep, I, too, escaped.’

‘Bravo,’ Alfred chuckled to himself.

‘I went for a walk and I came upon the servants’ dance in the woods. There you were! You looked like you were having marvellous fun, but before I could join the reel circle, you were gone. Feeling odd as the sole lady among the staff and villagers, I decided to follow you and Mr Drummond instead but… I did not know what I saw, truly, only that my presence was unrequired. Then, I saw how affected you were when he fell victim to that assassin, and I pieced it together.’

‘How clever of you. Do you judge me awfully now?’

Miss Coke could not answer right away. ‘Judge? Why, no, it has not occurred to me that I should. Should I?’

Alfred heard himself laugh. To the outside world, they could have been discussing the latest stage plays.

‘I would very much like to hope you do not. Your friendship is very dear to me,’ he said without a trace of falsity.

She smiled at him in reassurance, though he sensed she was not the same around him. She had not been since she suggested a bagpipe lesson the morning they left Scotland. She behaved as if she had to walk on eggshells around him and put on an extra bright smile, which had the opposite effect of masking her changed perception of him. That was a sad fact of his life over which he had little control. She was immensely kind all the same. It only just occurred to Alfred that this might not be her aversion to his proclivities but the burst bubble of affection she had nurtured for him once. Well, she had to learn. Better sooner rather than two weeks before a wedding never to be.

‘Have you told anyone else?’ he asked, as they turned back around the vast room, back to business.

‘No.’

‘Really?’

‘Not a soul, I promise. I would not know how. Or what. It is…’

‘Unspeakable,’ he provided for her.

‘I don’t mean to offend, Lord Alfred.’

‘It is no offence. I prefer to keep it this way. If it is unspeakable, no one does speak of it. I must ask one thing of you, however: this is not some kind of a ruse, is it? If it is, there is no need for games. If you mean to pressure me into asking for your hand, just tell me openly.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘Blackmail, Miss Coke.’

‘Lord Alfred, I would never!’

‘I know you would never, but your aunt might, forgive me. In which case, I must go ahead and disperse your illusions. I would sooner volunteer myself for ruin than ruin your chances of happiness with a husband that is true to you.’

Miss Coke stopped and looked up at him with her clear, honest eyes.

‘So, am I right? Does this mean you gave your heart to him?’

Alfred was brought to a smile. What a lovely question, given the circumstances.

‘I have.’

‘And he?’

Far from wanting to flaunt his glee, but Alfred could barely contain his smile, and that was an answer enough.

‘I used to envy Florence so,’ she pondered as they walked on. ‘I’m not sad that you are happy, Lord Alfred. I am only sad for my friend. She will marry someone whose heart lies elsewhere.’

‘Well, that’s the thing. Like I said, I would never betray you, or any of my friends in this manner. Drummond feels the same. I would owe you nothing less than my life if you promised to comfort your friend when the time comes that she should need it.’

‘When she… Oh! Goodness! You mean to say Mr Drummond is going to call off the engagement?’

Alfred glanced fearfully in all directions. ‘That is indeed the intention,’ he confided.

Miss Coke was duly shaken by that notion.

‘Do not misunderstand,’ Alfred connived, ‘Drummond cares deeply about her as a friend. She is like a sister in his eyes. He is doing this precisely _because_ he would not want to cause her a lifetime of unhappiness. He knows his responsibilities. He does not mean to abandon her, he means to compel her to sympathise and arrive at the same conclusion, the only conclusion that is right. I merely ask that you support Lady Florence in a manner that does not harm Drummond or myself, if at all possible.’

‘I would never want to cause harm at all. To anyone. You can trust me.’

‘I do trust you, Miss Coke. _Wilhelmina_. Thank you. Truly,’ Alfred smiled and hoped to God he was not a fool to do so.

‘…But what do you see in him?’ she said with a chuckle.

‘Why, he is just the most brilliant man there is! He is bright and handsome, and we share many interests. He is a real catch. Does it really surprise you that I have fallen for him?’

‘Well, I regard Florence as a bright, accomplished, and beautiful woman, but that does not mean I think of her as a wife,’ she giggled. ‘What a silly thought! Whatever would we do but take promenades and arrange flowers for the rest of our days? Lord Alfred? What is that smile? Oh, you mustn’t be such a beast! Tell me!’

‘I shan’t be the thief of your innocence, Miss Coke,’ he declared, composing himself as they reached the spot in the throne room where they had started. ‘However, I would remind you that there is a roomful of handsome and high-ranking officers standing right here before you, and your only competition is the married or widowed Ladies of the Bedchamber. If you wish to find someone with whom you can do more than promenade, now is your chance. Should you need an introduction, just point at the chap and I shall be at your service.’

Miss Coke went red but, after some nudging, she was game.

‘What about him?’ Alfred asked, indicating a general.

‘Hm…’

‘Why not? Come, Miss Coke, you know about the workings of my heart now. If I am to help you, you must let me in on your own preferences.’

‘I find the general too rugged,’ she admitted.

‘Well, then, how about that gentleman? Rear-admiral Lawton. I am told he juggles as a pastime.’

Miss Coke giggled but shook her head. ‘Alas, he is much too tall and lanky for my liking.’

‘Then him?’

‘Lord Alfred, that’s the new footman!’

‘Alright, alright! What about…’

‘…him?’ she pointed somewhere.

Alfred followed her gaze and scanned the elegant crowd gathered in the vast, gilded room until he locked eyes with a tall man with beautiful dark hair that was longer than the fashion of the day and which he so charmingly brushed out of a handsome face. One Alfred knew. Very well indeed.

Just as he had sensed, it wasn’t just Captain Gordon that was back in England. Alfred shifted from one weak knee to the other, trying to shake it off.

‘Isn’t he splendid?’ Miss Coke said, mistaking Alfred’s reaction for approval of the uniformed gentleman’s potentials. ‘I spoke to him before you arrived, Lord Alfred. He is Sir Robert’s third son and a newly promoted navy captain just returned from the New World! And I am told he has no one on his mind, as a bride, I mean.’

‘No,’ Alfred said, snatching a glass of champagne off a passing footman’s tray. ‘He would not.’

‘Oh, he’s coming over!’ she gasped and smoothed her dress.

Indeed, the captain stole a ripe apricot from a decorative creation on a table and stepped over to them two with a rather devilish smile.

‘Captain Peel!’ Miss Coke said. ‘How are you finding the champagne?’

‘The champagne?’ the captain repeated, though he was not looking at her but right at Lord Alfred. Unashamedly so.

‘I was just about to tell you about the new exhibition at the National Gallery when you said you were going to find a footman to try the champagne.’

‘Ah, that is right. So I did.’

‘Well, Captain?’

‘It’s delicious,’ he said while taking a bite of the fruit and licking a drop of juice off his fingers, all the while still only having eyes for a still speechless Lord Alfred.

Miss Coke kicked herself mentally and spoke up politely:

‘Forgive me! I am so rude! This is Lord Alfred Paget, Her Majesty’s Chief Equerry. Lord Alfred, this is Captain William Peel, newly given command of HMS Daring.’

‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Alfred,’ the captain said smoothly and held out his free hand.

Alfred would have rolled his eyes and told him to knock it off, but it was easier to shake it than divulge into explanations that he had known this man already.

‘Pleasure,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘I hope so,’ William said with a wink, satisfied and thoroughly enjoying this.

‘When did you get back to England?’ Alfred asked in order to play along.

‘A couple of nights ago, just.’

‘Southampton?’

‘As ever. I stumbled into the first decent inn the second we pulled in. I must say I am glad to sleep in a proper bed at long last. Indeed, the bed in my present hotel suite is so superbly large compared to the one in my cabin that it seems a shame not to share it.’

‘Captain Peel!’ a very red Miss Coke said. ‘What a thing to say!’

‘Forgive my manners, ma’am, they are somewhat rusty after months at sea with no break, and no women, just men, strapping sailors bored of the endless waters…’

‘Is that why your hair is so long?’

The captain laughed—loudly but not cruelly. ‘Do you imagine we have no scissors aboard, ma’am?’ he teased her.

‘I do not mean to offend. I am certain your crew is prepared for all occasions, sir.’

‘Oh, yes. I’m _always_ prepared,’ the captain said, his dark eyes piercing into Alfred’s.

Alfred just forced a smile as if they had only discussed the weather.

‘How was Oregon?’ he asked flatly.

‘How did you know he was on the Pacific Coa—’ Miss Coke said to what might as well have been the air.

‘Dull!’ the captain said. ‘The navy concerned with land disputes? I’m still not sure what the point of our mission was, really.’

‘But surely, sir, you must have seen so much of the world!’

‘And yet, the further they are the more one dreams of all the charms of home,’ the captain said pointedly at Alfred, not her.

‘Miss Coke here is right,’ Alfred deflected. ‘I’m sure you found some magnificent sights to amuse you.’

‘Not enough to tempt me to stay. I remember when Finlayson asked him on a deer hunt in Victoria (unsuccessful, I might add, so he was being rather testy), Captain Gordon said “ _I would not give the most barren hills in the Highlands of Scotland for all I see around me_." I heartily relate to his sentiment. Perhaps I never should have left.’

‘Well, now, the border has finally been drawn at the 49th parallel, has it not?’

‘The natives seemed to be doing just splendidly without one before we arrived.’

‘And you’ve been made a captain. Congratulations.’

‘Hm. I am only glad I made it home in one piece to receive the honour.’

‘Was the passage terribly dangerous?’ Miss Coke asked, feeling ignored.

‘The pacific waves were indeed incredible, not to mention the equatorial climate when I stopped to change ships. Ouf! The heat! It was so dreadfully _hot_ and _humid_ sometimes one wished they could throw off all their clothes and run to the beach, modesty be damned! I did, too, a handful of times, until I had my bottom garments stolen and had no choice but to walk all the way back to the seaside inn like that, dripping wet.’

‘W-w-wearing only your shirt, sir?!’

‘Who says I bothered with my shirt?’

Miss Coke choked on her glass of champagne. Alfred drained his.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I daresay we shall be keeping ours on.’

With that line, he led a beetroot red Miss Coke away from the captain.

‘What a peculiar conversation!’ she coughed. ‘I do not believe that I know men very well, but I detect traces of a cad about the captain.’

‘Hm.’ _Traces!?_

‘I do hope my aunt did not catch me chatting with him. Goodness, my dress! I spilled my drink!’

‘Why don’t you step behind that monstrous flower arrangement to sort yourself out? I’ll guard.’

While she did so, Alfred read the note in his hand. Because the captain had sneakily handed him one under cover of the earlier handshake.

“ _Midnight at mine? You know where to find me,_ ” it said.

Vexed, Alfred glanced back. The captain was still watching him with dark and hungry eyes as he took another indulgent bite of his blushing fruit. Almost imperceptibly, Alfred shook his head, which did nothing to wipe the smirk off the captain’s handsome face. He went after a footman for champagne, but Alfred was left with the feeling that this was not the end of their encounter.

‘Have you seen Wilhelmina?’ the old Duchess of Buccleuch suddenly demanded of him.

‘Not recently, ma’am.’

‘If you do, tell her she should not wander away from me in this crowd.’

‘I shall be sure to suggest a different crowd.’

The duchess did not appreciate the humour.

‘Lord Alfred!’ Victoria came up, though. ‘What is this I hear of a wedding at St Paul’s?’

‘Pardon, ma’am?’

‘I am, of course, speaking of Mr Drummond’s upcoming nuptials. The papers are claiming it is to be a much larger event than originally intended, but I do not even believe I have received an invitation.’

‘Ah. It is all a hoax, fear not, ma’am. Truly. Slow news days.’

‘Well, tell him at any rate that I do not care how courageous he has been, he is not welcome to use the cathedral unless I do get one or I shall have him hung, drawn, and quartered for treason before he can say “I do” to Lady Florence.’

‘Do I hear talk of the wedding?’ Harriet came to storm him, too.

‘I… please, ladies…’

‘Aunt!’ Miss Coke appeared to the rescue, her dress dry. ‘Were you looking for me? Come away. I hear Rear-Admiral Lawton has rather peculiar pastimes.’

‘Ooh, what sort?’ Harriet asked.

‘Come and find out, Duchess. Your Majesty?’

Victoria’s curiosity was successfully piqued. The ladies all followed Miss Coke. Alfred mouthed a “thank you” to her in passing, knowing for certain now that he could indeed rely on her mutual trust.

He retreated as soon as he saw William feasting his eyes on him from another corner of the ballroom, like a panther circling its prey. Alfred decided he had counted enough hours until he could once again call on Drummond.

 _Not_ on the captain.

Meanwhile, Alfred was very much in Edward’s thoughts, too.

_‘I hear the climate in the Mediterranean is very, very hot,’ Alfred whispered hotly against his lips._

Edward felt like he had been here before. Why was the room different then?

_‘I w-wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.’_

_‘Perhaps we could go together one day. Enjoy the sun, the beaches. Throw off our stifling cravats and bathe naked in the sea.’_

He had definitely been there before or at least had this conversation.

_‘Alfred?’ he asked. ‘Am I dreaming?’_

_‘And if you were? I’m yours. There’s nothing and no one to interrupt us.’_

_Edward was helpless. Every time. He did just as he had on each heavenly occasion that he imagined this with Alfred. He kissed Alfred with unabashed passion and Alfred kissed back. Only, this time, there was no sharp pain to drag him from his dreams. Suddenly, he was in Alfred’s arms just as they had been on the carpet, or the couch, or the bed, legs entangled, kissing; the thin fabric, the way he deepened his kisses, his glistening skin, and he was no longer grinding against him, he was thrusting—_

It was the doorbell that roused him. They really had to uninstall that hellish invention, he grumbled.

He sat up and checked his watch. It was the doctor’s regular time to come to examine him. Well, that might prove embarrassing, he realised. He tried to think _very hard_ about something entirely the opposite of the Alfred of his dreams. Trees. The sky. Clouds. _Alfred naked in a pond, his arms, his thighs, his_ —A desk. A cluttered desk. Awfully cluttered. _Throwing Alfred on the desk and having him right then and there_ —The wedding. Florence. Ah. Florence! That seemed to work!

Edward cursed himself mentally as he flopped back on his damned prison of a bed.

The doctor was shown in. This was a routine by now.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Drummond! How are we today?’ he started off.

‘Well, thank you,’ Drummond replied. _Too_ well. But then, he remembered he had to act faint. ‘I mean, I am still feeling a trifle weak, and sometimes I can barely stand, and standing up is a discomfort. So is sitting down, and, uh… I have fever dreams. Awful. Truly, ghastly.’

‘Huh. That’s strange. You seemed rather promising yesterday.’

‘But that was yesterday.’

‘Hm. Let us have a look, then.’

Once he satisfied himself that the wound was healing well, Dr Bernstein also checked his patient’s balance, and then his eyesight, his temperature, and his pulse once he was back in bed.

‘Doctor Bernstein,’ Edward asked tentatively. ‘Um… I was just wondering… How much longer would you say my recovery will stretch?’

‘Oh, that’s hard to tell, Mr Drummond,’ the doctor replied, staring intensely at his pocket watch whilst holding Edward’s wrist.

‘Just because… Um… I’m not sure if you’ve read the papers of late…’

‘You cannot attend next week’s races, that’s for sure, sir.’

‘It’s not the races, Doctor.’

‘I know, Mr Drummond, I know,’ Bernstein laughed and noted a perfectly healthy pulse rate on a sheet of paper. ‘Well, your condition seems normal to me. When is the happy occasion exactly?’

‘The fourteenth of September.’

‘Oy-vey, but that’s in a fortnight!’

‘Precisely. I’m not sure I shall be quite strong enough for it.’

‘You have been making good progress. I am confident you’ll be able to dance with your bride on the date.’

‘But, uh… what about… the honeymoon?’

‘Hm? Oh!’ Bernstein laughed and patted Edward on the back. ‘Fear not, Mr Drummond. I agree, you must avoid exerting yourself for the meantime, but you’ll be more than fit to enjoy your wedding night.’

Edward coughed from surprise and hardly found his voice.

‘I… I meant… travelling…’

‘Oh. I see. I assume you don’t mean to Brighton.’

‘No, indeed not. Italy. That’s Florence’s plan anyway. She means to visit the city that is her namesake.’

‘Well, I see no reason to postpone the wedding since you are healing well, but if you plan on making that journey right after the nuptials, my advice would be to postpone by, say, a month. That should be enough.’

‘A month?’ Edward repeated, immensely relieved. _This was the solution, on a silver platter! See, Alfred? Easy. Easier than easy! ‘_ Is that your opinion, Dr Bernstein?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your expert opinion?’

‘Why, yes, it is.’

‘No sooner than in a fortnight plus a month is it advisable for me to travel.’

‘To be on the safe side.’

‘You are certain.’

‘Quite certain.’

‘So certain you would bet your hat on it?’

‘Oh, my hat, my watch, my ticket to the opera to which I am rather looking forward.’

‘I do not ask those, but would you be prepared to put this into writing, perhaps?’

‘Why, indeed, I would be,’ the doctor laughed. ‘But whyever is it necessary?’

‘The matter is, I believe it would be better to reassure my bride’s family of the facts sooner rather than later. They must tell all the guests and staff and everyone of the changed date as soon as possible. It may be easier to digest this inconvenience and avoid gossipmongering by the papers if it comes from the pen of a renowned physician such as yourself.’

The flattery worked: ‘Perhaps that’s wise,’ Bernstein agreed.

‘Would you then, please, write to Lord Lothian, if you can? Personally. Uh, please. Perhaps, don’t mention it is upon my request.’

Edward also remembered to add a soft cough after that for effect.

The doctor shrugged, blissfully ignorant. ‘Yes, yes, of course. You just rest and spare yourself the headache, sir. Until tomorrow!’

Edward felt as if his feet had left the ground and his task was to touch safely on the other side of the canyon. He prayed for a backward wind because there was no going back now, not once Lothian was involved. But how smoothly they were sailing already!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan-casting Ben Barnes as Will, as ever, or just let your imagination fly freely. DISCLAIMER: the real historical Will Peel was probably a far cry from my fictional guy but all the stories and anecdotes are true or based on real things he did and recorded. I only disregarded the dates/order of his travels.
> 
> I still think the actual TV show should have just gone with this connection. I mean, there's so much Sir Robert in Season 2, and Will was rumoured to have had something with his aide-de-camp Edward St John Daniel who had to flee not one but two countries for getting up to really gay activities (and he was distraught when Will died in India). If you're going to axe Alfred's boyfriend, give him an ex from the past, not a lavender marriage that is never mentioned again. Still fuming, hence this very fic lol.


	10. Assassin’s Corrupted Actions May Get Innocent Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy ending is not easy to get, as certain people are learning the hard way. Driven by the fire of love for the first time, Drummond is prepared to be bold and brave. Alfred, not so much, but then, scandalously, he speaks from experience... lots of it.

_“…On the side of the prosecution, Mr Drummond’s surgeons and physicians may be called to testify of the physical damage caused. This is because the honoured gentleman may not be recovered enough by the trial to testify in person. He also plans to travel on his honeymoon later this month. However, medical witnesses E.T. Monro, Esq. M. D. and Sir Alexander Morrison, Esq. say the defence attorneys have a strong case to establish a precedence for a new insanity clause, which may require alterations to the present Offences Against the Person Act. The comprehensive act was spearheaded by Sir Robert Peel himself in 1828. “What could have induced the criminal to nearly deprive of life a being so unoffending and continue to show no remorse or divulge any reason for his vile actions?” Dr Monro asked at Wednesday’s press conference, suggesting that “so corrupted a mind may amount to an innocent verdict in court.”_

* * *

_Three years earlier_

_The luxurious hotel suite was scandalously untidy after their repeated nights of passion. In the cold light of morning, however, the world felt calm. A cool breeze wafted in through the gap they left in the window, caressing the lovers’ sweat-kissed skin._

_A confession of love was on Alfred’s lips, but he could tell that William was also grappling with something to say. Alfred waited, hoping to hear him say it first. He was sure that was what was coming._

_But then, he heard this:_

_‘Alfred, I am leaving in the morning,’ William confessed._

_‘…right,’ Alfred chuckled, somewhat disappointed. ‘I have to return to the Palace, too. They haven’t seen me in three days.’_

_‘No, Alfred, I… My father and the foreign secretary, they… called me in yesterday for a meeting. Well, a shouting match, really, once Aberdeen left for lunch. You see, they’ve been discussing the border in Oregon.’_

_‘Where? Wait, isn’t that in North Am—’_

_‘And they want someone to survey the situation without making a fuss—we don’t want the Americans to think we’re about to send in a fleet. So, we are not. We are only sending in a surveyor if you will. Via passenger ships, too, to avoid a diplomatic incident. Someone with expertise and rank but not a colonialist. Someone who explores but does not conquer.’_

_Alfred’s heart was slowly sinking, scared of where this was going._

_‘So, I… I’m headed to Southampton today, Alfred.’_

_Alfred lay in the blue dawn too floored to perform a theatrical reaction. The cool November breeze felt less soothing now and more like the sickening breath of a kind of death._

_‘You can’t go,’ he simply stated, not pleaded._

_‘Alfred…’_

_‘You cannot. You have barely got back from the Middle-East!’_

_‘And I shall return again.’_

_‘No, you won’t—the distance—the risk—what if you prefer it there? It sounds just the place for you. The east wasn’t wild enough for you, now you turn west.’_

_‘This is just mileage. I’ll see you again. I promise.’_

_‘When?!’_

_‘… I never ask you to wait for me.’_

_Alfred scoffed his outrage. ‘Whose idea was this really?’ he demanded._

_‘You know whose.’_

_‘Yes. That, I do. There. It’s just Sir Robert’s way of getting shot of you for… for years.’_

_‘Maybe, but that changes nothing. I’m truly sorry, Alfred. You know I expected to stay much longer between postings this time.’_

_‘Then stay. Surely, another ship—’_

_‘No other ships are headed westward until after the winter. I must leave now or they’ll have my rank. It cannot be fought. I am a navy officer, and an officer should subjugate his own interests to those of his service. It has been decided. Aberdeen’s own brother will be expecting me there.’_

_‘Why can’t he send back reports?’_

_‘Alfred…’_

_‘We have men stationed there, in Fort… Whatever. They cannot be too busy to compose a couple of letters. What sense does this make to send you all the way there to…to… look at things?!’_

_‘Alfred. It is an order.’_

_‘Challenge it. Or I will. Right now, I swear to God, I will go to Whitehall myself this instant, or appeal to the queen, we’re friends, she’ll—’_

_William grabbed him by the wrists and pinned him to the bed before he could get up and run to do something stupid, in government offices, nonetheless._

_‘Aren’t you going to wish me luck, darling?’ he spoke with the dutiful, mission-minded voice of a model soldier but even he had to sniff back tears._

_Alfred wanted to hit him, and everyone who had anything to do with this decision, but what he actually did was he clung to William, touched and kissed him as much as he could, and spent their last minutes making love to him, with closed eyes so as not to see the sun that had come up to end them_.

* * *

Still in his equerry’s dress uniform, Alfred hesitated to knock on the door. He wanted to go in. In fact, he was longing to hold the man he had missed so much in his arms again. To make him smile. To kiss him and forget all his worries for a sweet moment or two. It’s just that he had been caught by surprise.

He looked over his shoulder, feeling watched. He thought he caught the dark figure of a man disappear behind a passing hansom. Well, he wasn’t going to leave now that he had come so far. So, he knocked.

He stepped into the Drummond residence like he was coming home.

The lioness of the house was just going out. Again. She had a large package in her arm that intrigued Alfred rather a lot. Alas, the air still frosty between them, they both just nodded and went on their separate ways, no questions asked.

‘If you wish to dine with Mr Drummond, your lordship,’ Wood, the butler, suggested, ‘I can tell the cook to serve for two.’

‘Goodness, have I come this early?’

‘Yes, you have!’ Edward rejoiced, positively skipping down the stairs (contrary to the face he had shown to the doctor earlier). ‘I hope you like haggis?’

Alfred felt his words stuck in a throat that vehemently objected to the very thought.

‘Only joking,’ Edward reassured him. ‘Wood? A table for two, please. And nothing too exotic for Lord Alfred.’

‘Very good, sir,’ the butler said and went to make arrangements.

‘Dining? At a table? Like in a civilised society unaffected by assassins and bullets?’ Alfred teased him as soon as they were alone.

‘Disappointed?’

‘That I must wait until later to join you in your bedroom? Devastated! Though, I must say, I applaud your choice of eveningwear. Fetching slippers.’

Edward was wearing his comfortable nightclothes under his robe.

‘Apologies for being such a slob. I wasn’t expecting you this early.’

‘I’m sorry, I’ll just take a walk in the square to pass the time…’

‘Don’t you dare even jest so! I am thrilled. But shall I get properly dressed?’

‘Oh, no, please do not trouble yourself with wearing clothes, not for me.’

Edward went as red as Alfred’s jacket. ‘But you look so… so… so…’

‘The suspense is killing me. What? What is it? What’s that look? …Is it the uniform?’

‘It looks rather becoming on you, uh, yes.’

‘I see,’ Alfred grinned.

‘It just reminds me of the day I met you.’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘Truly,’ Edward insisted, though he was already so terribly flustered. He checked that the coast was still clear and whispered quietly. ‘It made you stand out so. It sent a jolt right through my heart.’

‘But you never even spoke to me.’

‘I was much too affected to find my voice. Sir Robert chastised me afterwards for being a spare part all throughout the parade. After the Duke’s praises, he expected better. I had even forgotten to introduce myself to Her Majesty and only got round to it later, when I informed her she ought to be churched as per the custom. Not the best first impression I’ve ever left, to be sure.’

‘Well, if you want to leave a favourable impression on me tonight,’ Alfred purred back not wanting to discuss Sir Robert Peel, ‘I might let you get _under_ my uniform.’

Though he welcomed it, Edward was alarmed by this flirty suggestion alone. Alfred, whose pocket still held the shameless note from the captain, had to smile. It only made him want to raise the bar and suggest yet more naughty things if only to get this adorable reaction.

Alas, Wood inadvertently chaperoned them throughout dinner. Safe topics: politics, the weather, and the races.

They sent the butler away as soon as the last course had been served. Alfred was still unusually reserved and seemed to be losing a staring contest with a peach in a fruit bowl blocking his view of Edward. _The way William looked at him._

‘You’re quiet,’ Edward remarked.

‘Hm? Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.’

‘Is there something troubling you?’

‘I just had an awfully long day.’

‘Oh, yes, how was the banquet?’

_Midnight at mine? You know where to find me._

Alfred stood from the vicinity of the offending peach.

‘Nothing interesting. Just the usual,’ he lied and pulled up a chair right next to Edward for scotch and cigars. ‘You know what these things are like. A lot of standing around and small talk for hours and hours. Although, I did hear a few things about Lady Palmerston’s honey.’

‘She keeps bees?’

Alfred’s heart swelled at the question posed so innocently.

‘Yes. Yes, she does,’ he said, hiding his amusement. He cut the cap off and put the cigar in his mouth. ‘Light me up, please?’

‘Hm? Oh. Right…’

Endearingly, Edward fumbled with his tinderbox like a novice. Alfred thought he’d play up on it. As he leaned forward for the flame and sucked in his cheeks to get it going, he never broke eye contact.

It worked. After he caught himself staring, Edward remembered his own cigar. Not that he hadn’t spent the whole day finding anything to distract himself from it after the delightful dreams he had. He had re-catalogued his library shelves, replied to every well-wishing letter from his brothers, which he had been putting off, and even sat for Charlotte for a tedious hour so she could practice. The only thing keeping him good was the fact Alfred had arrived early, but now that he was here, his presence in the flesh was a thousandfold more distracting than Edward’s mere dreams.

So, he too flustered to converse, and Alfred glad to have survived the day unscathed, they were content to smoke in peace for a few minutes.

Alfred watched Edward, with his cigar and his drink and a just a tempting little bit of his chest peeking out of the collar of his nightshirt under an elegant robe of burgundy he favoured and which brought out the warmth of his colouring. He wasn’t a boy. He was a perfect gentleman. And he knew how to flirt. Indeed, now that he was permitted to, he was not so much coming out of his shell but striding. But he was so clearly in the bloom of a first love. Was Alfred corrupting him, somehow?

Speaking of, his eyes wandered to the pendulum clock in the corner and before he could stop himself he checked the time, as if he had had another stop that night.

 _No_. He was not planning on going to William. He was not. It was just muscle memory. The timing was impeccably wretched, as usual. The captain missed this boat. It was entirely unfair on such a beautiful man as Edward. Alfred wanted to leave it in the past completely. Perhaps if it wasn’t such a dark secret…

‘I have a confession,’ he forced himself to say.

‘Gosh, that sounds serious.’

‘You be the judge of that.’

Edward put down his glass and listened.

‘At the banquet, I had a surprising encounter. It is of little importance, really, but I’d feel awkward for not telling you.’

‘Yes?’

‘I spoke to a friend today. Rather candidly, as it happens. This person is such a friend that I have few secrets before them. They found me out a long time ago.’

‘Why, if they are a friend of yours, they are a friend of mine, I hope.’

‘As a matter of fact, it is someone to whom you are connected irrespectively of me. It is a somewhat touchy connection, which is why I feel a trifle uncertain of your reaction. But here it goes. It’s W… Wi… Wil…’ and here, Alfred felt his courage abandon him. ‘Wilhelmina. Miss Wilhelmina Coke.’

 _Damn you, damn you, damn you_ , Alfred cursed himself.

‘We had a conversation at the banquet that I’ve been meaning to tell you of.’

‘Yes, you said you would speak to her. What about? Goodness, you’re not about to announce that you are engaged, are you?’

‘What? No!’

‘Oh, thank God.’

‘Steady on, Drummond. It may be an incredible discovery to you, but one can, in fact, have a chat with a young lady without proposing marriage once. It is possible.’

‘Oh, you, stop…’ Edward laughed behind his palms.

‘I’m just saying. Are you sure you haven’t offered marriage to anyone today by accident?’

‘Stop!’

‘No? Cheer up. The night is young yet. Pick someone. Your cook perhaps? A housemaid?’

‘ _As you were saying_?’ Edward grumbled between their giggles. ‘May I at least know if it went well, with Miss Coke, I mean?’

Though it was tempting, Alfred stopped teasing Edward at last.

‘That’s the thing,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to trouble you until I discovered which way it went.’

‘And?’

Alfred exhaled a puff of heavy smoke as he pondered this. He really hoped this would not only not backfire but prove a useful brick in the equation against Florence. He revealed the whole story to Edward, how she had seen them in France, and in Scotland, and drew her conclusions without malice. That she promised her trust. That they had her confidence.

‘…Now, I know Miss Coke is a close friend of Lady Florence’s. Probably closer than mine. Was I wrong to address it head-on?’

Edward, though surprised, shook his head.

‘Not at all. In fact, thank you. I don’t think I would have,’ Edward remembered how adamant he was on not even telling his sister, though she was being awfully nosy. ‘It is not as if you revealed it all to her of your own initiative. She figured it out. Damn! I had no idea we were seen.’

‘Are you really surprised, my darling? After all those private moments, meetings on guest lists, breaks on the balcony, fittings for costumes, and you choose the open grounds of Blair Castle? Not that I am complaining.’

‘Well, don’t. I have no regrets.’

‘Nor do I,’ Alfred said and, thinking it safe, kissed Edward.

And again, and again until Edward’s dreams were aroused and he had to break it off before he had to force himself to think of Florence again.

‘Drummond?’

‘I’m fine, I just… I have to pinch myself in your presence. Where did you learn how to kiss like that?’

Alfred just smirked elusively. ‘You understand why I step into every room and make a beeline for the curtains now, do you?’

Edward nodded. ‘It’s strange to think little Miss Coke is privy to this part of me. I have hardly ever conversed with her except when I had to on carriage journeys and at balls.’

‘Ah, don’t forget the bagpipe lesson.’

‘I have been doing little else than trying to forget it, actually!’

Naughty or not but they had a laugh about that painful hour.

‘I, too, spoke to Charlotte today,’ Edward revealed. ‘Not about us, only about her prying and her callousness. It will not happen again. And you do not have to worry about her. She’s just baffled because I have played the part of a dutiful fiancée too well even before her. I will take care of her in due course—I bet she’ll enjoy the incredibility of my affairs, God help me— _after_ we’ve taken care of Florence. Until then, pay her no attention. Come every night, stay as long as you like. _You_ shall never be turned away from this house again.’

‘And just when may I sleep, Drummond?’

‘I wish you would call me Edward.’

‘I can’t…’

‘Why not?’

‘Truthfully? I’m afraid I do not trust myself not to refer to you like that in front of others by accident.’

‘Well, you cannot keep calling me Drummond if you take the liberty to put your hand there,’ Edward glanced down.

Alfred slipped his palm off the spoilsport’s thigh where it had been for minutes. ‘You forbid me?’

‘Why, I do.’

‘What’s that, a lowly civil servant commanding me, the Chief Equerry to Her Majesty the Queen? I am not so sure about that, Drummond.’

‘Edward.’

‘No…’

‘Come, let me hear you say it.’

‘No.’

‘Just once!’

‘No!’

Out of nowhere, Edward discarded his cigar, grabbed the seat of Alfred’s chair, and yanked it close with a swift, strong move.

‘I really do, you know,’ he whispered hotly, leaning in close, his lips just brushing against Alfred’s most enticingly. ‘I love you. With all my heart, Lord Alfred Paget.’

Alfred’s heart was racing madly. Forget corrupting him. Where did this Edward come from?! He almost fell for it completely.

‘Nice try, Drummond,’ he shot him down, however, making Edward retreat and laugh so much he had to clutch his middle where the freshly healed wound was still somewhat tender. ‘Oh, dear. Do sit back—is that chair comfortable? Should you not be in bed? What did the doctor say today?’

Edward’s joy vanished like smoke in the air. Just then, Wood entered. Alfred jumped back to a respectable distance.

‘Shall I prepare the drawing room, Mr Drummond?’

‘No. I’m worn out. I wish to retire,’ Edward said and felt a soft kick under the table. ‘But Lord Alfred and I still have to discuss extremely confidential government affairs that cannot wait until the morning. I do not wish to be disturbed. That is all for today.’

‘Oh, but, sir, Miss Drummond is still gone out.’

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘She can let herself in at whichever hideous hour she deems appropriate to get in. You just feel free to blow out the candles.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Charlotte was in no rush to get home or to follow the crowd. She slipped backstage as soon as the applause broke out. By the time she reached the dressing room, the star actress of the play that just finished was already in there, changing out of her costume amidst a whole garden of flower bouquets.

‘Maud?’

The actress broke out in a smile as soon as she spotted Charlotte’s reflection in the mirror.

‘Charlotte, my dearest!’ she greeted her, turning around and promptly stumbling over her skirt bottom. ‘Oh, bother. Give us a hand, will you, dear?’

Charlotte helped her discard the used costume and stood awkwardly by as Maud donned her own garments and washed off her makeup.

‘Well? You’re awfully quiet, dear,’ Maud laughed a musical laugh. ‘Aren’t you going to shower me with your praises?’

‘You already have all of them,’ Charlotte replied honestly. ‘I’ve come to deliver something else tonight,’ she said, holding up the large, square package she brought. ‘I’ve finished it.’

Maud was ecstatic. ‘Already? Oh, you absolute angel, you should have said first thing! Oh, show me, show me at once!’

Behind the unassuming brown paper packaging, there was a portrait of Maud that had long been in the making. So long, in fact, that at times entire sessions had had to be dedicated to letting the paint dry on the canvas while the ladies made themselves comfortable on some drapery in the studio. It is amazing what one does for art. It was a process thoroughly worth it, really.

‘But you flatter me, dear,’ Maud chastised Charlotte kindly and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. ‘You have made me look far prettier than I am.’

‘I only paint what I see,’ Charlotte flirted.

‘Precisely. You have painted me. Not…’ Maud picked up a bouquet, ‘Gertrude!’ she said with an affected mockery of the role, ‘Nor Juliet!’ she said, picking up another, ‘Nor Antigone!’ she finished, assuming the great heroine, too, only to drop everything but the painting the next second. ‘You’re the only person that wants to see me.’

‘Well, that is the question. I know the portrait is finished but I was wondering if I might see you again—'

At that moment, a gentleman with sideburns that looked like dead mice behind his collar stepped in. From one second to the next, it was as if Charlotte had been air.

‘Maud? Ready yet?’ he asked, tapping his pocket watch.

‘Basil! One minute, my dearest,’ Maud chirped in one of her stage voices and exchanged the painting for her fur with haste.

‘What’s this? Ah! The portrait I’ve commissioned. Capital! Do tell the artist he’s done well,’ this Basil said and forgot about it at once. ‘Now, ready? I’ve got reservations at Claridge’s. I hear they have a new seafood menu my friends won’t stop recommending.’

‘Your friends? You mean your wife?’

‘Hardly. She’s never in London.’

Tapping into her acting talent, Maud laughed heartily for him. They were out the door without a goodbye.

Charlotte felt so stupid. Left alone amid Maud’s costumes and masks and the flowers from strangers, she was reminded it was all a fiction. Of course, she could not give Maud the kind of riches and protection that a gentleman was able to, but it did not feel any less unfair. All that work only to be overlooked like she was nothing? Because there was a new fish menu somewhere?

‘You plannin’ on sleepin’ in there, love?’ the stage manager barked, waking her from her thoughts.

‘I’m leaving, Mr Babbage, I’m leaving,’ she reassured him, trying to suck it up.

‘Just a minute, ma’am,’ he stopped her, seeing her state. ‘She’s a fickle one. You knew that. Everyone knows that.’

‘She’s not, really. She just does what she must to get by. The same as the most glamorous princesses, only with cheaper perfume for bait.’

‘In any case, dry your eyes. Or else, join us for a pint downstairs while we clean up.’

‘Have you something stronger, perhaps?’ she chuckled wetly. ‘Oh, just a minute,’ she added, turning back from the stairs just to smear _rouge_ all over the painting left on the vanity. This Basil could pay someone else if he wanted to look at Maud with her hair down. ‘After you, Mr Babbage.’

‘Did you speak to the doctor today?’ Alfred asked as soon as the bedroom door was closed.

‘I did,’ Edward replied.

‘You did as we planned?’

‘I did.’

‘And? What does he say?’

‘He said I should be fit for my wedding night,’ Edward relayed bitterly.

Alfred’s heart sank.

‘However,’ Edward continued, to spare him uncomfortable mental images. ‘Then, I rather twisted his arm to also confirm that while I could be, uh, _dancing_ in a fortnight, I could not possibly travel. He suggested a month’s delay,’ Edward revealed with a cunning smile.

‘A month?’

‘A month! Is it not absolutely splendid, my darling?’

‘Splendid is a word I use to describe a vacation in Tuscany. This is… a start.’

‘Come, Alfred, it’s more than that.’

‘Forgive me, yes, of course, it is good news.’

‘Brilliant news!’

‘Quite.’

Edward’s shoulders sagged. ‘…But?’

‘What makes you think there is a “but”?’

‘I thought you would be overjoyed. Your advice worked.’

‘Of course, it did,’ Alfred said with a wink, but he was not overjoyed at all. ‘I’m sorry, but does this mean we must play along for another month? I envy you sheltering in your home. But out there, it is a different story.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the papers…’

‘Who cares about the wretched papers?’

‘Everyone,’ Alfred stated very seriously indeed. ‘It’s madness. My valet is full of questions, even Papa has taken notice, and the other day I caught my equerries placing bets on whether the assassin is going to hang or go to an asylum. Even at the banquet, the ladies stormed me with salacious questions, fishing for news on the hopefully never-to-be wedding and the latest stupid speculation. The queen herself wants an invite. I can hush a little gossip here and there, but I am not sure I can save face for much longer without screaming at the next person who vexes me so.’

‘No. You won’t need to, my love. I am tired of this charade. Which is why you shall be pleased to hear that I did not only get Doctor Bernstein’s opinion, but I also asked him to write to Lothian personally to the effect that I cannot possibly be expected to get married on the fourteenth. The marquess will have to accept a physician’s verdict. It is done! See? Easy.’

But Alfred was far from jumping for joy.

‘I stand corrected,’ he uttered, going pale. ‘You do not mean to keep up the farce, you mean to burn the theatre to the ground in the first act!’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You’ve got Lothian in the loop already?!’

‘Why not? We’ve no time to waste, you just said we mustn’t let this get even more out of hand.’

‘But… but… we _agreed_. Small steps first. Only then do we resort to drastic actions.’

‘A doctor’s note is hardly drastic.’

‘We’ll see soon enough, I daresay. There will be repercussions. By God, if this is the case, perhaps I should not have come here tonight at all. I have stayed so late already. It is time I went home.’

Alfred moved to leave but Edward laid a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Alfred? My love? You surprise me.’

‘I surprise you?’

‘I have done no different than what I said I would. I want this done. I want this out of the way. I want to kiss you and not feel like I am unfaithful to someone. I want to have a conversation with you that does not involve my engagement or Lothian or any of this horrid affair.’

‘So do I, but to go ahead and write Lothian…’ Alfred gulped.

‘We _agreed_ we would take a leap and do this. Together.’

‘We _are_ doing this together, I am merely saying it must be managed with the most delicate care.’

‘Or perhaps we ought to be braver and bolder and do what we must!’ Edward declared, losing his decorum. ‘I’ve had enough. I do not belittle your feelings or worries, but you have no idea what it has been like for me. You have never been engaged; I assume you have never even been pressured to find a bride. It has been humiliating and invasive, it is as if I were a piece of meat hanging in a butcher’s window,’ he shared, pulling his robe tighter for cover. ‘I want to regain my agency as a person, I want to reclaim my body, my life! Now. Because right now, I feel as if Lothian owns me. I feel like a plaything of Florence’s, a doll to dress, to nurse, to brush the hair of. It has not helped that added to this, I have been penetrated by a stranger’s bullet, consequently prodded at by doctors every day, and had the public and the papers stick their noses in my most private affairs. You’re a soldier, in your language, it is thus: when your country is under siege, you take up arms and defend it. That is what I am doing. I’m not going to take this lying down, quite literally. Enough.’

Well, that hit Alfred over the head.

‘I know, my darling,’ he spoke much more softly. ‘And I detest this situation as much as you. I just wish you had consulted me before writing to the Marquess of Lothian. You’re right, he is an influential man and I hear such ghastly stories about him at the club. Apparently, he has spies everywhere. Look,’ he urged, going to the window to show him through the slightest gap in the curtains. ‘There. See that man in the black coat with the nose that looks several times broken in? I’m certain I have seen him before loitering outside your house.’

‘It’s probably just a journalist, if that.’

Alfred closed the curtains firmly. ‘Probably is not good enough. Imagine: what if it had been someone other than Miss Coke who saw us?’

‘What do you suggest then?’ Edward huffed, getting tired and disheartened, and his middle was uncomfortable in the bandages. He longed to breathe freely again, to be sure.

‘I don’t know… I thought you would simply talk to Florence…’

‘How? What should I say?’

‘I… I don’t know her…’

‘But what does one say, do you think?’

‘Well, I…’

‘Or how do I repel her? How do I compel her to leave me?’

‘I… uh…’

‘See? You haven’t an idea yourself. Do you even want to do this?’

The echo of the clock chiming fifteen minutes to midnight sounded from downstairs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to Alfred that he could still make it to William. His hotel was only in Mayfair, too, a short walk away. So much simpler, so much less complicated, and so much fun, always.

‘I do,’ Alfred reassured Edward, staying put. ‘Of course, I do.’

‘Then, tell me what we should do!’

‘For heaven’s sake, Drummond, I know who to tip and bribe so I can slip into a man’s room unnoticed and ensure no one discovers us for fifteen minutes, but I haven’t the faintest idea how to handle emotional brides-to-be or angry fathers-in-law, for I thought I’d never have to deal with their sort!’ Alfred burst out. ‘I have the talent to compose a note that says all but gives away nothing, but I don’t understand the fairer sex any more than you, because I have never cared for them romantically, other than, I hope, as someone who is able to support one’s friends through heartbreak and even scandals if need be. The number of times I reassured Her Majesty of the secrets of a good marriage, when, truly, I haven’t the faintest idea! I am a child of divorcees! The most I could advise you is not to be a cad when you face your fiancée. You know, oh, I don’t know, compliment her dress before you wish her a firm goodbye. Give her gloves back and so long! Oh, but, really, darling, I am as clueless as you, unless the question is how to show a man an unforgettable night, which is hardly helpful against Lothian unless he is hiding some serious secrets himself,’ Alfred rattled on with some humour for colour. ‘And also, perhaps, that if you wish to kiss me out in the open, I am not opposed to it, but choose a more secluded spot next time—a sheltered part of the forest, a folly, a boathouse, perhaps. There are always several options. Now, if you were to seek advice on that, I am your man. Otherwise, I am at a loss. …Drummond?’

Whereas Edward was stunned into silence. His head was spinning with mental images.

‘Drummond? Darling? Are you feeling faint? Would you like to rest? …What have I said?’

It wasn’t the bandages that had knocked the wind out of Edward’s lungs.

‘But you… you… you said you stayed away from men like _that_ ,’ he stuttered.

‘Like what?’

‘Just… men like… _Men_!’

Alfred chuckled from the relief that Edward was not about to collapse or anything, but he was utterly confounded.

‘I believe I said I stayed away from those who merely wanted an illicit dalliance before they got married,’ he clarified. ‘I never said anything about those with other intentions and less pretence.’

Edward remembered what had actually been said and saw his mistake.

‘Oh, my God. Alfred, where _did_ you learn how to kiss like that?’

‘What, did you think it comes to me naturally?’

Edward felt like a prize idiot. ‘I am so naïve,’ he realised.

‘Hm. Well, I am not… not anymore. You are not the first man to make me promises. That is, in part, why I am overcautious, that is why I treated you so awfully at the restaurant, why indeed I held off for so long even when I knew I had completely fallen for you. I did not want a repeat of…’

‘Discovery?’

‘Would I be standing here if I had ever been caught? No. Only, I would rather be alone than be abandoned again.’

‘So, you speak from experience.’

‘Why, yes. I thought it was obvious. I thought you knew.’

‘I knew,’ Edward said but one slight incline of the head from Alfred and he gave it up. ‘Alright, I didn’t.’

Alfred heard himself laugh. ‘Is it a problem?’ he asked, though he cracked up at his own question.

‘No,’ Edward said, perhaps too quickly.

Alfred raised his eyebrows.

‘No,’ Edward repeated, more believably.

Alas, the truth was, he had been under the impression that Lord Alfred’s incessant and, at times, outrageous flirting was nothing more than a Paget streak. He was so fine and lordly, a completely unsuspecting creature in the queen’s entourage. Fifteen minutes? Sneaking into rooms? Bribery? What the devil had Alfred got up to before he had confessed he was Edward’s?!

‘Go ahead,’ Alfred pouted, with a badly hidden smirk.

‘What?’

‘Ask me.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Questions. Anything you like. You clearly want to. I confess it is news to me that this is news to you but hey ho; though in my book, this subject is something to do rather than to discuss, I would rather answer than endure being judged by the man I love,’ he said just as the clock struck midnight. It made him smile. ‘Take as long as you need. I am not going anywhere. Unless you want me to.’

‘No. Plus, Lothian…’

‘You are right. I should be braver.’

‘Seems to me that bravery is not something you ever lacked.’

‘You have no idea how little was ever needed for _that_ in the past compared to trusting you with my heart presently. It is only my luck that I had to fall for the most wholesome man there is. So, come here. Question me. Judge me. Go on.’

Edward wanted to refuse, but he had a feeling this chance was not going to be offered twice. He stepped closer tentatively.

‘Forgive me, I’m not judging you. You know I am mad about you, whatever you did before we met. Only, I find the idea queer that there is someone— _are_ some men—out there, who ever botched it even though they loved you as I do.’

‘Oh, that’s a big word.’

Edward frowned in question.

‘Oh, darling, a few nights of passion with some Russian prince is hardly setting oneself up for love.’

Edward groaned internally. So, it really was like that.

‘Is that all? Just a prince?’ he asked, trying and failing to sound breezy. Alfred’s face said it all. ‘I see. Who else must I compete with? Kings? Dukes? Knighted war heroes?’

Alfred couldn’t hold back his laughter.

‘Who said there is any competition at all? Even if there were, you would be in a league of your own, my darling, my only…’ he said and reached for Edward’s hands and held them against his chest in a show of devotion.

‘But then… what were you hoping to achieve?’ Edward asked.

‘How do you mean?’

‘By accepting my invitation to that dinner. If you thought I was a lost cause, that I would abandon you and marry anyway, why even bother?’

‘Because I love you, because I love spending time with you? Because I am a fool for love and a glutton for punishment? Besides, I never pass up a chance to go to Ciro’s. What can I say? I am not perfect by far. I hope you did not imagine so.’

But something about this did not quite add up. If Edward thought back about that time without naivety, he remembered the oysters, the champagne. Alfred even dropped his habit of debating Edward on his politics, not even to defend harsh criticism of his father. And yet, how quick his temper was as soon as the conversation turned serious, as soon as it wasn’t just a bit of fun.

‘Have you ever imagined you would come to _my_ room?’ Edward asked.

‘I am in your room.’

‘You know what I mean. For but fifteen minutes.’

‘When I have, it wasn’t exactly under these limiting circumstances,’ Alfred winked but caught himself at once and stepped back. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak so. Do you wish I kept my hands to myself? I do not want to add to your feeling _under siege_.’

‘You are allowed,’ Edward reassured him and pulled him closer. ‘You are welcome to.’

‘I love you. I never wanted to simply pass the time with you.’

Edward did not distrust him on that.

‘…Did you really think I was an untouched flower, like your silly little fiancée?’ Alfred teased him, truly finding all this hilarious.

‘She’s not silly.’

‘No great temptress either, apparently.’

‘It’s not her fault she’s barking up the wrong tree.’

‘Ha! Oh, my darling, I’m sure you’ve had your fun before you were swayed by this uniform.’

‘I can’t say I have.’

‘Not even once?’

‘I told you I hadn’t done anything like this before.’

‘I thought you just meant with a man.’

‘Why on earth would I have ever rolled around on the floor with a woman either!?’

‘Well, you were engaged. Are! At the time I didn’t know how you had been pressured into it. I thought there might have been a time when you were, you know, sorting yourself out. I mean, I never had to, but plenty of men our way inclined do.’

‘Well, I have not.’

‘Not even at school? Silly games? Bets? At sporting events? Nowhere?!’

Edward bit his lip in that telling way. ‘I was propositioned once if that counts,’ he admitted.

‘Oh?’

‘Once.’

‘And?’

‘And it came to nothing.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I said no.’

‘Oh, why? Was he a rotter? Old? Bald?’

‘He was awfully handsome and charming, if you must know, but…’ Edward shrugged. ‘I suppose I was too afraid back then. I no longer am. Your love fuels the pyre of my courage. I need that.’

‘Hm, it certainly encouraged you to message Lothian not to bother with the small matter of the wedding… Seriously, not even on your grand tour of the Continent!?’

‘I perfected my German, admired the works of the great masters, and studied a great deal about Latin law during that most enlightening year.’

Alfred groaned and shook off his jacket as he slumped on the bed.

‘You are wasted on yourself, Drummond!’

Edward approached the bed.

‘I did have the most marvellous dream,’ he confessed. ‘Whilst I was out for days. And again. I keep having it, truth be told.’

Alfred pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘A dream?’

‘It’s how I knew I didn’t think of you as just a friend. It is memories of Scotland. I dream that I go and return your cravat.’

‘You did slip it under my door. That was very sweet.’

‘But in my dream, I go _into_ your room.’

Edward scooted over to Alfred, just as when he was being seduced in his dreams. Even Alfred’s eyebrows shot upwards.

‘You… you dreamed about those sorts of things while I was scared to death for you here?!’

‘We just talk,’ Edward lied deliciously transparently.

‘Mm-hmm,’ Alfred grinned knowingly up at him. ‘What about, pray?’

‘Just… the evening. Us. Then, you ask me to translate from the _Iliad_ , I believe, which is strange because I can’t read Ancient Greek very well.’

‘And after that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Alfred. We kiss.’

‘And after that?’

‘I am yet to find out. I always get too excited, I realise it’s just a dream, and I wake right up. It doesn’t sound much but it is wondrous. At first, I wondered whether I _had_ died and gone to heaven. My idea of it is you, and me, and…’

‘A book?’ Alfred frowned, cracking Edward up. ‘A bedroom, then.’

‘Good grief…’

‘It is mine. Oh, by all means, do blush, I am enjoying it immensely.’

However, though he now knew the flirting was indeed as serious as can be, Edward was unthwarted, and he spoke with absolute sincerity:

‘I may not be the first man to make promises to you, Alfred, but I want to be the first not to break them. You deserve no less.’

‘So you don’t mind?’

A touching sense of relief coursed through Alfred as he felt Edward’s lips. How had he got so lucky as to deserve so much love? If all the previous heartbreaks, betrayals, and abandonments were necessary stops on the way here, he regretted not a thing. If he had feared that Edward’s devotion had been shaken, he no longer had to worry about that either. After all that talk, he found it more difficult than ever to hold back.

‘So… The doctor said you’ll be fit for a night of passion in a fortnight? Potentially. Just to confirm.’

Edward giggled into his kisses. ‘He also said not to exert myself until then.’ Indeed, he was clutching his middle while he found a comfortable way to recline.

‘Not even a little bit? Shame.’

‘Not unless it is to push myself on my rusty Greek.’

‘Oh, I was thinking we could find a way where you could simply lie back and leave all the work to me,’ Alfred suggested, shifting to straddle and pin him to the bed, careful not to hurt him. ‘I have a few ideas. You know, because I am such an old hand at this.’

‘God, you really are such a Paget sometimes…’ Edward laughed.

‘I take that as a compliment, thank you.’

And then, an idea made Edward sit right up, injury be damned.

‘The Marquess!’ he exclaimed.

‘Lothian?’ Alfred frowned, displeased at his suddenly empty arms. ‘What of him now?’

‘No, not Lothian. Your father!’

‘Excuse me?’

‘We both of us are rather clueless, are we not? I know about the business of marriage, but I haven’t much experience at clandestine affairs or surviving scandals. You are, uh… quite the opposite. There is someone who has first-hand knowledge of both.’

‘Papa!?’

‘Yes! We could ask him how he would go about it.’

‘About what exactly?’

‘About breaking off the engagement, of course. We are just guessing in the dark. He must have an entire map!’

‘Wait, wait, wait. You want to get my father’s advice on how to discontinue your, by now, very public engagement to the daughter of one of the most prominent figures of the aristocracy so that you can be my lover and mine only?’

‘We won’t put it like that to him.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘But he’s, you know…’

‘No, I do not,’ Alfred quirked his eyebrow and crossed his arms. ‘What is my father?’

‘He’s… well, you know… he’s Henry Paget!’

‘Lord Anglesey to you, darling. And I thought you pegged him as the doom of civilisation.’

‘Only his politics, not his person!’

‘Oh, that makes it all alright.’

‘I’m sorry, I take back everything I have ever said about him! Oh, Alfred, would it not be useful? We don’t have to name anyone in the equation. We just need to know of his experience enough to give us an advantage. He is the same age as Lothian, too, and a Whig, and married, twice, and don’t think that stories of his amorous complications are not passed around like salt and pepper shakers in all circles. He might have something up his sleeve that we haven’t thought of.’

‘We? Us? I suppose it’ll be I alone who shall broach the subject, will it not?’

‘Only if you see him…’

‘But I will. I see him every day. I moved into my parents’ townhouse when you… lingered.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? I could not bear the loneliness of the Palace. I turned every corner and walked down every hall expecting to see you in that burgundy coat of yours and your folder in hand. I would go on our balcony to smoke and your absence was more painful than ever. It was unbearable while we did not know whether you would live or…’ Alfred could not even say it. Perhaps he could take a few risks for a second chance with Edward. He was right. Courage. They had to take bigger leaps. ‘ _If_ I talked to Papa, I don’t see how he wouldn’t guess it is you. In fact, I think he will guess the rest of it. He has noticed I’ve been staying out entire nights. He will know.’

‘It is hardly a conclusion that presents itself.’

‘But he would come to it, without much difficulty, too. As you say, he is Henry Paget, a worldly man. Worldly enough, I hope, in fact. If not, Napoleon may have failed to kill him, but this surely would!’

‘Are you afraid of him? Because, if you are, don’t.’

‘I am not. I’m really not. _He_ really would not wish unhappiness upon me. I just…’

‘Then, please, Alfred. We could use all the help we can get.’

‘I will think about it,’ Alfred decided. ‘But only because you are so handsome.’

‘Thank you. Thank you, Alfred! I love you more than I can say.’

‘Then don’t. Show it,’ Alfred pouted but just before he could have enticed Edward in for a kiss, they heard noises downstairs and in the hallway. ‘What’s that?’

‘Just Charlotte,’ Edward listened and huffed in frustration. ‘Once again, I apologise for her.’

‘I know it is not my business but is she normally out this late? Alone, too?’

‘Don’t start…’

‘I know you feel guilty, but is this wise?’

‘And you? Are you in a position to judge?’ Edward teased him. ‘I told you, pay no attention. She just wants to show off to her friends by staying out late or drinking in excess. She’ll grow up.’

‘Don’t you think there’s more to it?’

‘Trust me, she just pretends her life is more interesting than it is. Or my life, for that matter. Besides, in a way, it is better for us if she has her own affairs to occupy her.’

‘So you’re not going to talk to her?’

‘It can wait till the morning. Now, where were we? I believe I have some catching up to do…’

‘You have some healing to do first,’ Alfred reminded him from arm’s length and did not rest until Edward was tucked in. ‘And you need to get a key for that door before any talk of the _Iliad_.’

‘Kiss me goodnight, at least? Please?’

‘That, I’ll allow…’ Alfred said and cuddled close to give him a chaste kiss, though he felt like such a beast. He had been doing nothing but flirt his pants off when Edward had been feeling invaded on many fronts. He should have known better. And now, he had to make up for seeming such a rake himself. He vowed to behave.

To his delight, however, far from being content to be chaste, Edward answered with a kiss that had no competition in the world, none at all, and Alfred found the strength to leave no sooner than dawn once again.

Someone did spend the night alone, however. William was still sat at the piano in his suite, reminding himself of the pieces he had not had a chance to play for years _en voyage_. In reality, he was getting through his bottle of brandy faster than the music book.

An hour after midnight, he abandoned the keys and went to the window to hang his head out into the night air. He already missed the sea wind in his hair, though he had barely returned to this stuffy, dusty city.

It was the cruel law of the world that it was only when one felt the loneliest that they would spot nothing but couples everywhere they looked. So was the case with William, who, looking down, saw that the street outside the hotel was packed with buzzing crowds. There was not one person going out alone. He told himself he didn’t envy them. Nevertheless, he could not help hoping to see a blond head of hair or a powder blue coat, even if he knew in his heart that Alfred was not coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The witnesses are real, the theatre people are not. Disclaimer: of course there's no source for Charlotte's love life but she also never married, and my dears, with that family background, I have to ask why. I really do. Plus, she died at sea. Let's assume she was a badass traveling girl. Because... plot.
> 
> However, the real Will Peel did believe he had to put his personal interests second to his service. Reading for nerds like me: https://www.cnrs-scrn.org/northern_mariner/vol04/tnm_4_4_1-14.pdf
> 
> Disclaimer: please communicate with your partners candidly. Alfred only says he doesn't because I wanted to at least try to be period-accurate, but for the love of God, do discuss sex with the people you do it with. Just putting it out there! XD


	11. Sir R. Peel Praises the Elusive Mr E. Drummond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred asks his parents for advice and has an awkward cab ride. Florence is barred from entry yet again, which emboldens Charlotte to be nosier than ever. Poor Wood. But it is Edward that will either sink or swim.

“ _In an exclusive interview, the Prime Minister revealed he has reflected upon the foul attempt by a Mr Daniel McNaughton of Glasgow to take his life, which was prevented by his Private Secretary Mr Edward Drummond (who is still yet to respond to our burning questions directly)._

 _“I confirm that my person was the criminal’s sole true target. If it were otherwise, the actions of the criminal would not only be abhorrent and deplorable, as they are, but absolutely incomprehensible additionally. Young Drummond is beloved, esteemed, and valued by all who know him. He is of a disposition so amiable that it is impossible he could have any enemies,” the PM shared, adding that he wishes Mr Drummond a speedy recovery and the best of luck for his fast-approaching marriage_.”

In the morning, Alfred peeked into his father’s library very tentatively.

The last time he remembered feeling this apprehensive on that doorstep was when he was fifteen and meant to ask if he could attend a boxing match with his older brothers. His father ended up surprising him by rejoicing in his interest even though he had never before shown any when it came to the barbaric sport. The truth was that Alfred had heard that the men fight shirtless, so he made it seem as if he was indeed simply eager to know the score.

‘Either come in or shut that door, son,’ Henry grumbled from a height. ‘The draft will be the death of me.’

‘But it is a warm day, Papa,’ Alfred noted, coming in properly.

‘Warm or not, the draft will suffice in upending this ruddy ladder. A fatal prospect if one is so _leglustre_ as your poor father.’

Alfred gave an exasperated chuckle. Henry fished a book off the top shelf and descended the steps.

‘Forgive me. You are no child to amuse with silly jokes anymore,’ Henry said bittersweetly. Indeed, his son was as tall as him and a fine and promising young man. ‘Does the queen not require your presence this morning?’

‘My Windsor jacket is just being mended by my valet. A button gave. Then I’m off.’

‘Windsor, eh? You should be able to sleep on the journey.’

‘Sleep? Do you imagine Her Majesty’s present entourage is so dreadfully dull?’

‘Do not think I am not aware that you sneaked in at dawn again.’

Alfred did not deny that under the knowing gaze of his father. But that was exactly why he was there.

‘Papa, may I ask you something about you and Mama?’

‘Good grief, this is not a birds and the bees kind of talk, is it?’

‘It is most definitely not.’

‘Good. I suspect you know all the facts by now with as many elder brothers as you. I should think the only reasonable advice I could add would be to tell you to do the opposite of everything I got up to at your age. Don’t go chasing skirts or proposing to a lady every other day…’

‘I can certainly manage the opposite of that,’ Alfred mumbled.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, nothing at all. I was just wondering about the consequences of the, uh, divorces.’

‘A happy marriage, I am glad to say.’

‘Yes, yes indeed!’ Alfred laughed nervously. ‘Alas, I know you do not like to discuss it, but I am sure the repercussions were not easily ignored. Socially, I mean.’

Henry shut the book so hard it released a cloud of ancient dust.

‘I knew it,’ he declared.

‘What?’

‘Your mother says we ought to be happy if you’re happy, but I knew it. I _knew_ it!’

‘Knew what, Papa?’

‘You’re courting a married woman, are you not?’

‘Pardon me?! No!’

‘Then why your sudden habit of staying out at all hours? First you appear on our doorstep as pale as if you’ve seen a ghost, then you can barely be compelled to come out of your room, only to then suddenly sneak home at sunrise repeatedly. And now, these questions…’

Alfred could not explain himself on that score, not with the truth. But Henry just rolled his eyes.

‘Eh, whatever it is you get up to, I might as well tell you, for what it’s worth. No, not by any measure were we spared from the natural consequences of the divorces. Emily was four by the time we could safely return to London without being pelted with insults and sometimes more. So, we didn’t. It gave me a chance to work in Ireland as Lord Lieutenant but venturing on a journey out of one’s own free will and doing so because one is in exile are not quite the same thing. We had to cover Em’s little head on outings even in Anglesey in the first years. Your mother cried so.’

‘God…’

‘Indeed. And then we couldn’t find a nanny whom we trusted.’

‘Trusted?’

‘Not to abuse her, or Clarence and Mary, while they were little.’

‘What?’

‘Eh, by the time you came along, it got better. We found staff we trusted. Never underestimate the importance of this.’

‘No, of course not,’ Alfred agreed, knowing from nearly ten years of experience that he could trust his valet entirely, which made his nighttime sneaking around much easier.

‘As you know, my dear boy, we never were the kind of parents that spent merely an hour a day after tea with you little rascals. We were there always. Just in case. Our peers did not like that we followed our hearts. But we also committed a grave sin in the eyes of many from all classes that follow the Book word for word.’

Now that he thought of it, Alfred remembered he could always run to the housekeeper or the butler for sweeties, but he could not name a single permanent nanny around the house. Adelaide’s present governess was not live-in, either.

‘Did grandmama and grandpapa not try to stop you?’

‘Your uncle did, as you know.’

Henry referred to his duel with Lady Anglesey’s brother for her honour. It was too late by then. They both fired and walked away having settled the matter. The wedding went ahead soon after anyway.

‘Didn’t that just add to the scandal? What happened? How did it start to die down?’ Alfred asked.

‘You’re full of questions, indeed, I say.’

‘I just want to understand.’

‘It just did. There’s always a new season, and coming with it, new scandals. Even if they’re not necessarily bigger, novelty tastes sweeter even than one’s favourite meal if they’ve chewed on it every single day for years. Simply put, it got old. Besides, it’s not as if we had committed a hanging offence. Only a social crime.’

Alfred forced a laugh. He had not quite corrupted Edward on that front, though not for lack of wanting. That wretched assassin… But he had vowed to be good regardless of that, given Edward’s feeling invaded.

_You know where to find me._

_NO_ , Alfred internally screamed, angry that the back of his mind even went there. Will’s timing was as disastrous as ever. Alfred had enough on his plate. More than enough. This translated to an outward huff, which Henry mistook for distress about the divorce scandal.

‘The world can be cruel, but when something is worth it, you would be amazed what a person is prepared to sacrifice and endure,’ Henry said and tapped his wooden leg with the corner of his book for humour.

‘Well, that’s just what I really mean to inquire about, Papa,’ Alfred said, hearing Edward’s voice say the exact same words. That, he listened to keenly.

‘By all means, Alfred. I must say, you are the only one of my children who comes to me with questions on divorce sooner than on marriage but ask away.’

Alfred started pacing slowly.

‘Say I had a friend who was engaged to a person,’ he began, feeling his story was paper thin. ‘And say, this engagement was, for several reasons, on the longer side. And, say that the parties, or rather one party, in the meantime, changed their mind, or rather heart about the union. What chance do they have of breaking it off with minimal scandal?’

‘They?’

‘He.’

‘Hm.’

‘Yes.’

‘They have not actually got married, these hypothetical friends of yours?’

‘No. Most certainly not.’

‘But they are engaged to be married.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Has it been announced yet?’

‘I’m afraid it has.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I just want to know,’ Alfred deflected, pacing on, ‘whether it is common for the father of the bride to sue the reluctant groom. It seems an outdated practice and one that reflects badly on the bride, not to mention terribly middle-class. Indeed, lower.’

‘That depends. It has been announced, which has the effect of having invited all of society’s noses in the business. It also means the date has been set within, I would guess, a month of the announcement and that can make it all so terribly awkward.’

‘I’m afraid it does mean that.’

‘How soon?’

‘In a fortnight,’ Alfred revealed uncomfortably.

Henry was amply outraged.

‘They have progressed until a fortnight till the date of the wedding, and the groom has only just realised he changed his mind? After a lengthy engagement at that? This is not a broken betrothal, this is a jilting! What has he been doing, lying around unconscious?!’

‘Well… quite.’

Henry cursed so heartily Alfred instinctively checked for anyone in earshot.

‘This is about your friend Drummond!’ the marquess realised. ‘Well! I say. We all thought he was a dead man, but he _is_ a _dead_ man.’

Alfred was struck with fear at the verdict so confidently confirmed.

‘Surely, it’s not as bad as getting married and then divorcing,’ he suggested.

Henry pulled a face. ‘In some respects, it is not. In others worse!’

‘Worse? How could it be worse!?’

‘Oh, Alfred, use your brain! With married parties in the scandal, at least there is a sense of propriety attempted. Even adultery is not as bad when it is between people who _have_ been married. Divorce is deeply frowned upon but everything that happened was allowed. I’m not one to care about gossip but I am sure young Drummond, who is at the dawn of a most promising career, very much does. God knows what they’ll say of him now, let alone the bride. I should think the man’s reason what that he had her and has now tired of her.’

‘There has been no such impropriety, I assure you,’ Alfred was quick to lay down.

‘Ha! And I’m this year’s sprinting champion.’

‘But it hasn’t!’

‘Pfft. Drummond’s a healthy young lad, if a bit holey presently. Isn’t his bride Lothian’s girl?’

Alfred blinked at his father in astonishment.

‘Drummond is a gentleman,’ he stated with an edge. ‘He really is. He has not been corrupted in any way, not even on his grand tour, except in his taste for pungent cheroots. It’s not that. Precisely the opposite. He never loved her. And still does not.’

Though baffled, Henry eased up and shrugged.

‘Tories. Never understood them. One thing is predictable, however, is that he cannot expect any more of the papers’ praises once it is done. If I were him, I would plan some travels. He’s a Scot, isn’t he? That’d do or preferably abroad.’

‘He is to flee the country?! Are you really convinced it is that serious?’

‘That’s nothing compared to what the girl can expect. Unless… Goodness me, are you asking because you mean to step in the groom’s shoes, come the date in a fortnight? ALFRED HENRY PAGET—’

But Alfred pulled a face of disgust. ‘I most certainly do not! God, Papa…’

‘Then she is doomed.’

‘And what if she were the one to break it off? Surely, women are free to change their minds on a whim without the legal repercussions men may suffer, if there be some social ones.’

‘Drummond would have to be seen as a notorious cad in order for that to work. In case you have not noticed, he has been hailed as a hero for the past two weeks in every rag in the country!’

Alfred felt like he could not breathe. Henry discarded his harsh attitude and turned to him far more gently.

‘My son, why, you are most upset about this whole business.’

‘I just… I…’ Alfred stammered, holding back sobs of frustration. ‘I don’t want to see my friend trapped in a loveless marriage! I am you and Mama’s son through and through. I really wouldn’t wish Drummond the pain of all that. He is every bit as bright and gentle as the papers write. It would be difficult to watch the joy in his eyes dull because of something that can be avoided yet. Think of the Duke. I don’t want that fate for Drummond.’

‘Hm. Wellington’s marriage is indeed famously wretched. Is she very horrid in private?’

‘No, I have never met her, not really. But I am told she is perfectly tolerable.’

‘So he is bright and brilliant and she is accomplished and agreeable. Neither of them is strained for funds, and everyone supports the union. Yes, what a tragedy, anyone can see.’

‘God, I know, I know how feeble this sounds. You’ll say can’t he get used to her and grow to love her anyway, but do you not think he has asked himself this a million times? It would be a life-long prison, no matter how pretty and perfumed.’

‘But Alfred, I would be the last person to say such a thing,’ Henry told him, however. ‘Sometimes, everything is right and yet there just isn’t that ineffable spark. I know this. So does your mother.’

‘What do I know?’ Lady Anglesey asked as she came in from the garden with some monstrous rose cuttings. ‘Henry, you are not speaking for me on any subject, are you? You know you have been forbidden from doing so since the infamous Ritz affair.’

‘I think you would agree on this one,’ Henry said and filled her in on the details of the issue.

‘Go on,’ Alfred urged, feeling defeated. ‘What say you?’

‘Well, I do agree indeed that simply telling Mr Drummond to get on with it might not solve the issue. It would only create more. But I really do feel for the poor girl,’ she said.

‘I should think her marriageability will not be disputed,’ Alfred grasped at straws. ‘She is Lord Lothian’s daughter, no one would dare drag her name too deep in the mud, not if they want their sons to step in to court her. The marquess is a man of influence. Plus, I am to attend several social occasions this week. I shall sing her praises, if I must, to lessen the blow.’

‘Aww, that’s so kind of you, my boy.’

‘I… I… uh…’ Alfred stammered. He had not imagined himself concerned with being kind to Lady Florence.

‘Should that fail to work, you can always stage a duel to restore her honour,’ Henry suggested.

‘Papa!’ Alfred chastised him, and so did his mother.

‘Oh, Henry!’ she tutted, though she flashed him a secret smile that Alfred pretended not to notice, for his own nerves’ sake. ‘I was not exactly concerned about society,’ she lamented. ‘But her heart. Where does that signify in this equation?’

‘I confess I have little concern for that.’

‘Alfred! Do not be so ungenerous. She shall be distraught.’

‘Her devotion is a testament to how splendid Drummond is as a person.’

‘Splendid indeed, abandoning her in the eleventh hour…’

‘But he is. He could never knowingly dupe someone, especially not someone he cares for as a friend. Even though he has a lot to gain from the marriage and a lot to lose by breaking it off, he could never bring himself to be the thief of her chances of finding a man that truly loves her. His honour does not allow him. That’s the simple truth.’

‘Well, then, the solution is simple, too.’

‘Is it?!’

‘He must talk to her.’

Alfred scoffed.

‘Yes, he must,’ his mother insisted.

‘To repel her? Yes, we thought of it.’

‘Not to repel her but to come clean! Oh, you… men!’

‘Actually, Drummond suggested he might attempt a sincere chat. He said he trusts her to see sense but what does that matter when she might be in for a heartbreaking?’

‘I will say, your friend is growing in my eye by the minute. He is clearly wiser than you and less of a cad.’

‘Mama! I am not a cad!’

‘Then respect the girl’s right to know all the facts. If I had been even a little less ignorant before my first marriage, I would have made vastly different choices. Trust me, a gentleman’s indifference is only attractive prior to a proposal. Afterwards, it is unforgiveable.’

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip. ‘So, if she knew he did not love her, but she desired to marry for love, do you think she could be prevailed upon to comply and go quietly?’

His parents shared a loaded look.

‘Comply, maybe,’ Henry said. ‘Go quietly? As I said, I know men, but I still do not know women enough to predict her actions when hit by such a blow.’

‘I’m afraid I cannot help there either,’ Lady Anglesey said. ‘I cannot speak for all ladies, particularly not one I have never met. She may understand him, but she would not be at fault not to put on a stiff upper lip, at least not at first. Whatever the etiquette, emotions can run high in such events. Your friend would be a fool not to brace himself for that. And so close to the date!’

‘But miracles do happen,’ Henry reassured Alfred. ‘You are right. It’s better to come clean sooner rather than later.’

Though anxious, Alfred was greatly encouraged by that, at least, believing in Edward’s plan much more as he thanked his father and his mother and turned to leave.

‘There, uh,’ Henry said just before he could step out of the library. ‘There’s not been any money that’s changed hands, has there?’ he asked.

Alfred gulped, gripping the oak of the doorway so hard his nails left a mark.

‘No,’ he lied, protecting Edward’s integrity. ‘Of course, not.’

Henry smiled and nodded and returned to his books and his wife.

Alfred, however, was not so relaxed at all. Once he had donned his mended uniform and sent his valet to Drummond’s house with a note, his troubles were only added to, first thing out the door.

‘Ah! There you are. Rise and shine, gorgeous,’ Captain William Peel said from the pavement with a self-assured grin and popped a cherry in his mouth.

‘No.’

That is what Alfred declared without hesitation and rushed down the steps past him in as large a circle as possible.

‘What? Alfred?’

‘No. No, no, no, no, no. Just no.’

He was in luck! A cab pulled over. He gave the destination and hopped right in.

‘Oi! ALFRED!’

Alfred shut the hansom’s door and tapped the roof.

‘ALFRED!?’

‘I’m sorry!’ he called out the window as the vehicle began rolling away, even as Will was chasing it on foot along the curb. ‘Just… No!’

But that wasn’t enough to thwart the daredevil captain. Before the hansom gained too much speed, he yanked on the handle and, like a stunt performer, hopped in on sheer bravado.

He made himself comfortable on the seat opposite Alfred and dusted himself off like it was nothing.

‘Still not a morning person, I see,’ he chuckled. He took his hat off and shook his hair loose, hoping to be admired.

Alas, Alfred was as cross as could be.

‘How did you know I was here?’ he grumbled.

‘I went on a search for you at dawn. I went by the Palace first—’

‘You went by the Palace!?’

‘Not through the front gates! Please. They said there that you reside at the Paget house nowadays. And you do! Why didn’t you invite me in? Or is good old Anglesey in? All the more reason! I love that man. A living legend. Cherries?’

William may have seemed cheerful but he had wondered listlessly around the city all morning. At some point, he picked up some cherries in Covent Garden, which he now held out to share. Alfred declined.

‘Suit yourself. I dreamed of fresh fruit for weeks between Brazil and England, I tell you. Amongst other delicious treats…’ he added with a playful kick of Alfred’s boots. ‘Alfred? I meant you. You do know I mean you—’

‘I cannot deal with this, Will,’ Alfred said at the judging face of his pocket-watch. ‘I hope you’re not hoping to derail me, I’m running late as it is.’

‘Yes, I rather think you are. Midnight had passed and I was waiting and waiting in vain for you. Were you held back? You know I always stay at Claridge’s. If the walls of that suite could talk… or the bed… or the couch… or the chaise, the dining table, the rug by the fireplace, or the bathtub that one time.’

Reddened by the memories, Alfred glanced out the windows in alarm for any acquaintances in sight as they neared the Palace’s gates already.

‘Alfred?’

‘I’m sure you do not need me to amuse you whilst you are in London, William.’

‘But… You _are_ London. You know I’ve no interest in this wretched place aside from you.’

‘Might I suggest visiting the zoo? Or why not go the country you gush about so oft? Buy yourself a house so you have something to which to return, hm?’

William’s grin finally faded.

‘Alfred, have I offended you somehow?’ he asked, dropping his debonair charmer act. ‘I know I was away for a long time.’

‘Three years.’

‘God, it does sound awfully long, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s not that. I understand you had to follow orders.’

‘Do you find me much changed? Have I grown wrinkles?’

‘You are younger than me, you imbecile.’

‘This imbecile did bring you some presents if that’s your hold-up. I always do, however far and wide I travel.’

‘I don’t need presents, Will.’

‘Then, whatever it is, I am deeply sorry for it. Truly, I am saying so as a friend, not because I want to… _amuse_ you. We are still friends, are we not?’

Alfred had no choice but to soften at the sincerity that the wild-natured captain reserved only for him.

‘We are friends, William, of course, we are. You have done nothing to offend me, I promise.’

‘What’s the harm in catching up, then?’

Alfred imagined that he would go out on the town with William for a dinner and some cards at the club and then show up to visit Edward, where he would either not mention it, which would feel secretive, or mention it and have to explain his entire scandalous history with the son of the man whose life Edward saved.

‘I’m sorry, I just can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘My days are full.’

‘And the nights?’

Alfred pretended not to hear that and got out of the cab as they arrived.

‘You look dashing in that uniform, by the way,’ Will remarked. ‘Will you return from Windsor tonight?’

‘That remains to be seen. I have my own orders to follow. From the top.’

‘You have not packed a bag—wait!’

But Alfred had saluted the captain and he was already past the gates.

‘It was good to see you,’ he reassured him, but this was goodbye. ‘Truly. I wish you luck!’

William watched him go and disappear beyond the guards and the archways. He was thoroughly nonplussed. What on earth had got into Alfred?!

‘You going to give me an address or what, sonny?’ the driver grunted at him.

Where to next? Where indeed?

Meanwhile, a wretchedly hungover Charlotte was stood at the front door once again, telling Florence to go home.

‘It is not that Edward won’t receive you,’ she reassured Florence with strained patience. ‘It is that he wishes not to receive anyone for just a couple of days. Even Sir Robert has to moderate his inquiries to his love letters from the office.’

Florence was still baffled. ‘Is this because of the wallpaper?’ she asked. ‘I am open to a compromise on the palette.’

‘No, it’s… not the blasted… wall… paper… GOD!’ Charlotte heard herself snapping. ‘Florence, I have not had a good night’s sleep, so may I be quite frank?’

‘But of course. We are to be sisters.’

Charlotte tried not to gag at the bright, young, bonneted and ringleted Lady Florence standing on the verge of tears on the doorstep of the Drummond house.

‘Listen, Florence,’ she said as un-patronisingly as possible. ‘By now, I imagine you should have more confidence in yourself. You have been the darling of the season, the darling of society, to be sure. You are famously accomplished and charming, and, you do own a mirror, don’t you?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You must know that with your looks, you are a dream wherever you are present.’

‘Why, you flatter me. Even Edward never says such things to me. Some days I doubt he would notice if my hair turned blue! Perhaps I should try it to test him! Ha-ha.’

Charlotte made a mental note about that.

‘What I mean to say is,’ she continued. ‘You need not fret about Edward desiring some rest and privacy. We all need to be alone sometimes. I’m sure you do, too.’

‘Oh, well, I admit there are days when I wish my calendar was not full so that I did not have to do anything but stay in and just read my novels uninterrupted for hours. Mama would never allow it.’

‘There you go. A cup of tea and a good book. What could be more lovely? Look, Edward has been putting on a brave face, but we are lucky he is alive.’

‘We are. Truly, oh, Charlotte—’

‘Right, so,’ Charlotte cut in before Florence started weeping again. ‘He is not great company when he is, you know,’ and she mimicked some horrid snoring.

Florence found she had to laugh out loud.

‘Oh! Charlotte… do stop, I shall snort.’

‘See? You’ve cheered right up. I say, use these couple of days for yourself. Go, see some friends, or read your book. See a play you could never convince Edward to sit through. Do all the things you might not have the chance to do for a long time or ever again once you are married. And most of all, do not be sad. Your smile lights up the room.’

‘What room?’

‘Any room.’

Florence was indeed compelled to smile rather brilliantly.

‘Oh, Charlotte. Thank you. You really are the dearest. I wish the men we marry could be half as charming as you. Oh! But what am I saying? Imagine marrying one’s best lady friend!’ she laughed at the _ridiculous_ notion.

Charlotte forced a smile. ‘Right… imagine… silly…’

But then, Florence got weepy again all of a sudden.

‘M-m-may I call tomorrow?’ she sobbed. ‘If I am p-p-permitted.’

‘…alright, goodbye.’

Charlotte virtually slammed the door in her face and slumped against it in exasperation. She had no talent for dealing with this. People with their petty problems that weren’t really problems at all! Florence must have had such a happy life for her to be so distraught just because of a few days without visiting her fiancée. Really, now. She needed to sort herself out and get a grip. Alas, it did not take long for some knocks to come again.

‘Wood!’ Charlotte barked. ‘WOOD!’

‘Coming, ma’am.’

‘I can’t do this anymore,’ she said, throwing up her hands as she passed him on the stairs.

‘Leave it to me, ma’am,’ the butler said hurrying to the door, though he was still holding a towel marked with “E. D.” But it wasn’t Florence. She was quite gone. A young man he had never met was standing on the doorstep. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, no interviews, no visitors,’ Wood said automatically and went to shut him out at once.

‘No, sir, please, I am not a journalist.’

‘Right you aren’t, sir.’

‘What? Please, I just have a note to deliver.’

‘To Mr or Miss Drummond?’

‘Mr Edward Drummond. I have got the right address, have I?’

‘As I said, no interviews, no invitations.’

‘But—'

‘If you’ve correspondence, send it as a letter by regular post.’

‘No, sir—’

‘Goodbye.’

‘It is from his lordship!’

Slam. And then Wood immediately opened up again.

‘His Lordship?’ he asked. ‘The marquess?’

‘No, his son.’

‘Lord John?’

‘From Lord Alfred _Paget_ if you’d care to listen!’ the man insisted through gritted teeth and stuffed the note in his hands. Lord Alfred had warned him about this, but honestly! ‘I am his valet. He says he is to escort Her Majesty to Windsor Castle today. There. Message delivered. Good day. Crikey, is this a townhouse or a fortress? Ugh!’

The valet turned on his heels.

‘Sir!’ Wood called after him in a wholly different tone. The Drummond house had been running in perfect order since the sir moved in. These past couple of weeks, everything became irregular. He had a myriad of questions. Perhaps Lord Alfred’s valet would be able to answer them. Alas, the few yards of distance between the front door and the pavement might as well have been an ocean. ‘I’m sorry. Thank you,’ he simply said in the end.

Somewhat appeased, Lord Alfred’s valet nodded and left. Wood retreated to the house.

‘WOOD!’ someone called from upstairs.

‘Oh, damnation,’ he cursed and hurried back upstairs. In Mr Drummond’s room, however, he found his sister. ‘Ma’am?’

‘Did I hear that note is from Lord Alfred?’ she asked.

‘It is, ma’am.’

‘Give it to me.’

‘But ma’am…’

‘I shan’t open it. I just want to deliver it. And you, please, clean this,’ she said, pointing at the comforter on the bed.

‘Very good, ma’am,’ Wood said and took it away.

Charlotte banged on the bathroom door. ‘EDWARD?’

 _Plop_ , went the soap as Edward dropped it from surprise. It slid on the tiled floor far out of reach.

‘I’m in the bath, leave me alone,’ Edward grumbled.

‘Well, get out. There’s a note for you.’

‘I cannot. Wood has my towel. Did you gobble him up out there?’

‘It is from Lord Alfred,’ Charlotte said, holding the note up to the light as if it could have contained something explosive. ‘Want me to read it out for you?’

‘NO!’

 _Damn_ , Edward cursed to himself. She must not, under any circumstances—

‘Oh. He just says he’ll be in Windsor today,’ she read anyway, clearly disappointed. ‘And that he may be back tonight but at a later hour than expected. If not, it is because his duties are keeping him in Windsor. Oh, and he’s sorry.’

‘THANK you for reading my private correspondence out loud to me. I really appreciate it,’ Edward said sardonically.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Enough of the cheek, thank you. And do not think you’ve escaped a good telling off for last night.’

‘What? What have I done?’

‘You know what.’

‘I never said a WORD to him yesterday!’

‘I am not speaking of your callousness with Lord Alfred, Charlotte. Do you know what time you got in last night? This has to stop.’

‘I just sent Florence away again for you, by the way,’ she retorted. ‘She is getting weepier and weepier each day. I would worry about that more than about my affairs if I were you. And I told Wood to clean your blanket. How did you get mud on it? I do hope you’re not exerting yourself, you cannot be exercising or gardening or anything.’

Damn. Mud. That would have been from the boots of—

‘Lord Alfred stayed after dinner, did he not? Hang on, was it him? The mud? Why was he on your bed in his boots? God, Edward, were you fighting!? I cannot believe this has to be said but you are not to engage in anything as stupid as a wrestling match before you are fully recovered. I will not allow him to visit if this is what you do. Just as you are for me, I’m just looking out for you.’

‘Thanks, can you please, uh, find something really, really important for me, Charlotte?’

‘What?’ she asked, excited that he might initiate her into what was really going on.

‘Yes, uh, could you please find your way OUT OF MY BLOODY BUSINESS?’ Edward barked through the door, however. ‘AND TELL WOOD TO BRING ME MY TOWEL!’

‘Alright, alright,’ she grumbled. ‘You should know, though,’ she added, ‘He sends his love.’

‘What!?’

‘Lord Alfred. He signs his note with love. “With love, Alfred,” it says.’

‘Uh… well… he’s just… YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO READ IT!’

‘Only jesting! Christ, you really cannot take a joke today.’

‘GO AWAY, CHARLOTTE.’

‘I will. My head is splitting. Ugh!’

‘AND CALL WOOD—she won’t call Wood, will she?’ Edward sighed and lay back in the tub.

He plunged underwater in the hopes that it would rinse his frustrations away.

When he emerged, he realised wasn’t really mad at his sister. He could not stop thinking about all the things that Alfred had said the night before.

So, Alfred had been with other men that way. He did not go into details, but Edward heard enough to feel a strange bravado awakened in him. He had always longed for Alfred with every fibre of his being. He made no secret of it since they started… well, whatever this was. Courtship? He knew for a fact that even engaged couples weren’t permitted to cuddle and kiss all night like he and Alfred regularly did. Given they could not marry, there were only nasty words to define their connection, which could not have been further from the truth of it. Their love was nothing to do with perversion or evil or even fornication or adultery that many passages condemned in the lawbooks that Edward had so keenly studied at school and since in the search of meaning and purpose and the betterment of his country. He did not feel that Alfred’s kisses were a corrupting influence at all.

That was just it. Due to his ongoing convalescence, they had not gone further than that. Edward had assumed this was unchartered territory for Alfred, too, but apparently, not at all. The bath was probably not the time to ponder this but what if he didn’t compare? What if Alfred got bored of him like he evidently had of his other lovers? What if he had already got tired of waiting? He was awfully flirty. Outrageously so, at times. Clearly, he was hinting at something. Had Edward missed some cues already?

These insecurities were just the tip of the iceberg. What truly bothered Edward was that he was tired of holding off, himself.

His scar was healed. It was unbecoming and it would forever blemish his skin, but it was nothing life-threatening anymore. It was certainly no cause for this much caution at all. He did agonise sometimes: what if the doctor was able to tell if he was a bad patient? But he meant it: since his near-death experience, he had been a changed man, who wanted to grab a big spoon and taste life without hesitation.

Was this all that was behind his sudden urgency? Or was it that they had confessed their love, which opened such burning feelings? Was it the revelation that Alfred was experienced? Or was it something that Edward was scared to face, which is the sense that, despite their plans and conspirations, he felt as if all this could have been taken away any minute? After all, every time he had been happy, disaster struck promptly and cruelly. And he was at his happiest yet. Was there danger in the air, lurking around the corner to pounce just when he least expected it? Therefore, yes, he felt the urgency not to waste more of his life above any insecurities or fears. Quite simply, he wanted to love Alfred while he could.

He needed to get out of the tub. But where was the butler with the towels!?

‘WOOD! WOOD!!!’

Alas, Edward Drummond wasn’t the only one who was not in the mood for jokes that morning.

Lord Lothian was more than outraged. First, the doctor’s letter, and now Florence mentioned, ever so casually in her naiveté, that Drummond had not let her in his house for the third day in a row. He knew what this was working up to. Another postponement. Another snub.

Did Drummond really think he could play the Marquess of Lothian for a fool? Well, he might have just needed a reminder of the status quo.


	12. McNaughton to be Tried Next Month.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred gets a couple of useful tip-offs from a reliable source. He is determined to be more virtuous for Drummond's sake, but he in turn has quite the opposite idea. Alas, a storm is gathering overhead and they might just be in for a rough awakening.

“ _… to be tried on October 3, at the Old Bailey. The trial may be observed by journalists and members of the public due to widespread interest. Not listed amongst the witnesses called to testify is Mr Drummond, who has been left bedbound for weeks. We urge the court to issue due punishment for the perpetrator, particularly because his victim is the Private Secretary of the Principal Minister of the Crown, who does not hold that situation in public life which would render him obnoxious to political enemies, but whose character is beloved and praised by all in his life. Not only does he not fill any prominent situation before the public, but he is without any personal enemies_.”

Alfred was making quick work of saddling up his horse. He turned his back on a warm bedchamber in Windsor Castle for this. He reckoned he would sleep at Drummond’s. It could not come soon enough, he thought as he stifled a yawn. He also sensed a storm in the air and he wanted to get going as soon as possible.

In his haste, he nearly dropped a polishing cloth or the hay-strewn ground of the mews. Before it landed in the muck, someone caught it and Alfred did a doubletake at the head of curly brown hair that seemed so familiar.

‘Oop! There you go, sir.’

‘Thank you,’ Alfred said, accepting the cloth from the chap he could not place. He checked his attire. ‘Colonel…’

‘Lieutenant Colonel Drummond, at your service.’

‘Oh, but you must be Mr Edward Drummond’s…’

‘Brother. Berkeley. Apologies—I don’t know what my parents were thinking.’

Alfred accepted a firm handshake from the jovial young man. ‘I’m Lord Alfred Paget, Her Majesty’s Chief Equerry,’ he introduced himself in turn.

‘Ah, capital! I can finally put a face to the name,’ Berkeley chatted.

‘Have you heard it mentioned often?’ Alfred tried to suss out, worried this was a loose thread.

‘Indeed! Our sister Charlotte writes you have been keeping him company while he recovers. A thanks is due you, my lord. Or is it Lieutenant Paget when we’re on duty?’

‘On duty?’

‘I am going to be a new Groom-in-Waiting to Her Majesty. Well, after I transfer from the Scottish Fusiliers, which should be official any day now.’

‘Really? How splendid! Forgive me, I did not realise. It is true, I have been somewhat absent from the court for the past couple of weeks, owing to your brother. It is not my habit, do not let me show you a bad example, sir. These are, as you know, special circumstances.’

‘Indeed. Truly, thank you for looking after Edward. He keeps to himself but I believe it does him good to have friends his age around him.’

‘As opposed to enemies?’ Alfred joked.

‘Oh, I just mean that he’s always been popular with women, though he prefers to spend his time tailing stuffy statesmen. Do distract him from his work and his fiancée with something, will you?’

Alfred nodded along, thinking of all the kisses that had this effect, but Berkeley did not need to know that.

‘Well, welcome to the madhouse,’ he jested and double-checked his saddle. Berkeley stepped back so that Alfred could get on.

‘A fine steed you’ve got there, my lord.’

‘Horace?’ Alfred chuckled and gave the horse a scrub on the neck. ‘We’ve been serving together for ten years now and he’s still going strong. Don’t play the bagpipe around him, though. As anyone sane, he rushes to flee its vicinity with no warning.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Do. Especially around the Honourable Miss Coke. She’s fond of the instrument. You’ll see.’

‘I’ve met her,’ Berkeley said with, Alfred could swear, a blush.

He tried not to read too much into this. He had to cool his head—just because he was burning from love of Edward day and night, he ought not to meddle or matchmake.

‘Well, I am certain we shall meet again very soon, sir.’

‘Lord Alfred, before you go!’ Berkeley stopped him just then. ‘Perhaps it is not my place, and Edward would surely wring my neck if he knew I told you this, upon our first encounter, too. I did ask whether I should call on him, but Charlotte says he does not want visitors presently.’

‘I’m sure he would not deny you entry, sir.’

‘I reckon it would also reflect badly on me if I abandoned my duties upon my first time at Windsor.’

‘True enough! Everyone has had a telling off from Her Majesty at one point or another, but it would not do to begin with one.’

‘I’m sure Edward hasn’t.’

‘On the contrary! Drummond learned this himself when starting off his first audience with Her Majesty by offending her about the churching ceremony.’

‘Really? He’s not so frustratingly perfect, then?’

‘Luckily, he, as others have recovered.’

‘Oh, good!’

‘Anyway, what is it that I may relay to him from you, sir?’

‘Not relay, exactly,’ Berkeley said and stepped closer so that no one in the stables could overhear. ‘It is you that I should like to tell this, really. I just have a sense that my brother is apprehensive about his marriage. Not in a good way, I mean.’

Alfred feared where this was going for a second. But then, Berkeley did not continue with conspiracies about just how close a friend Alfred is to his brother. On the contrary:

‘You know him, Lord Alfred. He is of a mild nature. He never crosses anyone. He does not mean to be a problem, even at the cost of his own discomfort.’

That raised an alarm in Alfred. He got off the saddle, all ears.

‘Discomfort?’

‘He is a bit of a prude, Edward is. If you know what I mean.’

‘Well, I…I haven’t noticed,’ Alfred said but what he meant was “ _No, he bloody isn’t_.”

‘Course you haven’t. I mean around women. You’re an army man, you understand. Edward isn’t quite as worldly. He has always been guarded. Sheltered, I should say. By his own choosing, I think. He is so ambitious! And he is saintlier than Arthur and he’s the rector in the family!’

‘He is a gentleman,’ Alfred agreed but his smile hid real panic.

He now really feared that Berkeley’s warning did not only apply to women but Edward’s general sense of self that he felt had been under siege. The last thing Alfred wanted to do was to be a pushy cad. Had he mistaken Edward’s adorable, flustered reaction for excitement when what it really was is discomfort? Damn! Alfred really had a lot to learn, despite his past. That’s just it, the only language of love he knew was the physical side of things. He could hardly have ever sent Drummond flowers to his office or danced with him at a ball. But it was all wrong, apparently. He had to stop being so outrageously flirty. He had to behave. He was right, wasn’t he, to vow to behave? He was right. Right?

‘What can I do about this, Lieutenant?’ he asked for advice, therefore.

‘I don’t know how much you know of the whole business.’

‘I know enough.’

‘I’m just afraid this whole wedding’s been thrust upon him like a chore. Charlotte agrees but he’s not telling her anything. May I, therefore, rely upon you to guide him into doing what is best for him this time, not what he must do to please others? That is all my message. Mayhap I am entirely wrong to worry and he does not need it at all.’

‘You are not mistaken, sir,’ Alfred told him in confidence. ‘In fact, your insight could not be more accurate. But I assure you, Drummond is already determined to do exactly as you advised.’

‘Ah. Good. Great minds, eh?’ Berkeley jested, relieved.

‘Correct.’

‘Did I overstep the mark?’

‘Not if I can meet you in the middle with my own query,’ Alfred said and braved the question that had been burning in him but knew it was tactless to ask. ‘Why him?’

‘I’m sorry, my lord?’

‘Why him and not you? Or your other brother, the rector?’

Berkeley nearly burst out laughing.

‘Why, Lord Alfred, what sort of a question is that?’

‘A normal one. Well?’

‘Are you really asking me in earnest? But haven’t you met Lady Florence?’

‘Not formally. Why?’

‘You must know.’

‘What?’

‘You tease me.’

‘I’m serious, what is it that should be so apparent to me?’

‘Stop jesting!’

‘Lieutenant Drummond,’ Alfred commanded in a very different tone indeed. ‘Answer me, please.’

Worried he messed up on day one, Berkeley noticed himself and obliged:

‘Why, Lady Florence is devoted to Edward. Always has been. There was never any question of her marrying anyone else, not in my family, at least.’

‘When did this come about?’

‘Oh, they’ve known one another since childhood. Edward went away to study for a while, of course, and then settled in London because of politics. But I was told it was with the intention to marry Edward that she followed south.’

‘When?’

‘Pfft. When she was but a debutante.’

‘That must have been some years ago.’

‘Four, five? She couldn’t wait. I believe she was scared that some other lady would snatch him up before she was even out in society, but that’s far from Edward’s character. He takes forever researching the menu before going to a restaurant, for heaven’s sake, and then still ends up ordering the same as his companions just to please them. That’s Edward.’

‘It is. So this was never about joining the two families together. It was always about her wanting to marry him.’

‘I believe so.’

‘Then what about the son? Lord… Lord John? Miss Drummond? I don’t understand.’

‘I’m afraid I do not know much about that. I was away, training.’

‘But if you had to guess,’ Alfred pressed him, stepping close. He was fuming inside. ‘Why would you say that proposal had to take place? And a time when all of the girl’s brothers just happened to be absent and therefore unable to step in, should anything be amiss?’

Berkeley shifted under his superior’s commanding stance. Like his brother, he was not one for mischief or lies.

‘I don’t believe anyone expected her to say yes,’ he revealed. ‘She was sixteen, a child. But it was an excuse. It was leverage. Just in case.’

‘Why?’

‘My lord…’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Florence complained that Edward took far too long to reply to her letters from the Continent. So I presume they banked on Edward’s good nature and created a guilty conscience so that he would be more malleable.’

Alfred was nearly sick in his mouth.

‘They were… matchmaking?’ he realised. ‘In a twisted way.’

‘Correct. Simply put, Florence is spoiled. What she wants, she gets. Even if it’s a person. Lord Lothian was simply making sure Edward would not be so reluctant or take too long to consider it and frustrate everyone. Because, well, like I said, it doesn’t take a genius to realise that’s exactly his nature.’

‘So she is not likely to go off him anytime soon. Theoretically, only.’

‘Oh, Edward would have to grow warts on his whole body to put her off.’

‘And do you think there is a chance that Lothian has him watched?’

Berkeley went pale.

‘Please, don’t ask me more, Lord Alfred. I should never have meddled at all.’

Although he was seething from the unfairness and trickery, Alfred stepped back and stopped extorting incredibly confidential details from Berkeley that even Edward had not known.

‘Please don’t trouble him with all this, my lord. At least not while he is weakened.’

‘Of course not. Now, I really must get going or I’ll get drenched to the bone by the time I reach my destination,’ Alfred remembered as he noticed how fast it was darkening outside the stables and got back on his horse. ‘But it is my absolute pleasure to have made your acquaintance, sir. Thank you for… thank you.’

‘Safe ride, Lieutenant. I mean, my lord. I mean, Lord Alfred.’

Alfred laughed and clicked his tongue to spur Horace on his way.

‘You’ll get the hang of it, sir, fear not!’

‘Snap? Mother?’ George asked.

In the other corner of the Pagets’ drawing room, Lady Anglesey was huddled close to her husband and hardly heard her son.

‘What’s that, Georgie?’ she asked.

‘Are you in for a game of snap, Mama? I’m getting tired of pummelling Septimus repeatedly.’

‘Hey!’ Septimus kicked him under the table.

Adelaide popped out of nowhere. ‘Can’t I play?’ he asked.

The boys shared a dark look.

‘Come on!’ the girl stomped. ‘I shall play with only my left hand this time, to give you a fighting chance.’

‘No way,’ George responded. ‘The last time, you took enough money off us to buy yourself a casino.’

‘For this, when I grow up, I shall do just that, and everyone will be allowed entry except you two.’

‘You little rascal—’

‘Stop bickering, for heaven’s sake,’ Lady Anglesey warned them and flagged down a footman to bring her some herbal remedy. ‘The weather is affecting me so. There is a storm brewing out there, you know it makes my head positively split. And stop letting Addie gamble.’

‘We are not, that’s the point!’ Septimus protested. ‘Where’s Alfred when you need him? We have seen but a minute of him since we’ve been on leave. He’s been all… weird.’

‘Alfred is in Windsor, boys,’ Henry said, putting an end to the quarrel.

‘Some people have all the luck!’

The young ones went back to their card games. Lady Anglesey, however, huddled close to Henry again.

‘ _Is_ Alfred in Windsor today?’ she asked covertly.

‘You saw him. He was wearing his uniform,’ Henry said.

‘Did he say his duties would keep him overnight?’

‘He did not.’

‘I shall ask his valet.’

‘I already have.’

‘Oh?’

‘Mh-hmm.’

‘So…’

‘Mh-hmm.’

‘But…’

‘I know.’

‘Then, he should have been back by now.’

Henry threw up his hands, only hoping his son was safe wherever he was.

…which was just a few streets away. Alfred got to Mayfair late. This was indeed a starless night and the stifling pressure of the gathering clouds overhead did not ease anyone’s stress, least of all Alfred’s.

He secured Horace to the railing, still fuming over what Berkeley said. Well, this was nothing surprising, really. Of course it was a trick, Edward’s father and Lothian simply made it seem like it wasn’t. And Edward, assuming the best of people, believed them! Florence. Ruddy Lady Florence! She thought Edward was some shiny doll in a boutique that she could pick out for herself, damn his feelings! Oh! The audacity! No wonder Edward felt like a piece of meat! No wonder he felt forced. No one ever asked him what he wanted. And he had been too nice to stand up for himself at the time it all started. And now it was too late!

 _Well, we shall see_ , Alfred huffed under his breath.

At least Alfred understood now that the best way to show his love was to stay at arm’s length from Edward, to let him reach for what he wanted. He felt confident in his belief. He would be good. He would behave. He would be proper and patient and chaste and—

Edward engulfed him in the warmest of embraces and most passionate of kisses as soon as they had closed the bedroom door.

‘D-Drummond? Perhaps a “good evening” first?’

‘I missed you,’ Edward reasoned and kissed Alfred yet more fervently, and some more, all the way back to bed, where he was pulling his lover with urgency.

Rather a lot of urgency. But, Alfred remembered, he had to behave.

‘Steady on, Drummond! Why the impatience? I messaged I’d be late.’

‘I am always impatient to see you,’ Edward purred and swiftly freed Alfred’s neck from his cravat and went in for kisses on his bare neck. Alfred’s reaction was involuntary but there was something about this that didn’t add up.

‘Drummond? Did I miss something? You seem so… so…’

Now that he looked, Alfred noticed the room was unusually neat. The shutters _and_ the curtains were properly shut. There was no clutter on any surface, save for a single book on the bedside table. The Iliad. Huh. And was that a key in the door? Edward’s nightshirt was also freshly ironed, and his hair was perfectly tamed, though what for? He was only at home, no one to really impress. Unless...

Alfred gently pried him away to a respectable few inches’ distance.

‘…well-groomed,’ he finished subtly. ‘I do hope you’re not trying to prove something because of what I said yesterday.’

‘I just want everything to be perfect,’ Edward said and grabbed him by the waist to spin him around in a haphazard Waltz, foreheads pressed together. ‘Just as you are perfect!’

‘Stop, you’ll get dizzy and hurt yourself!’ Alfred said, though he laughed out loud and fell into a neat step instinctively. ‘What will I say to your doctor if you faint and bruise yourself?’

‘You only wound me if you refuse.’

‘Is this a special occasion I should know about?’

‘Can’t I dance with the man I love?’

‘Is that what they’re calling it these days?’

‘Would you prefer to lead?’

‘I am happy to follow your lead.’

‘Well, in that case, I say kick off your boots, for heaven’s sake, and come to bed.’

‘Gladly! Alfred said but it was a trick. He flopped on the bed, really only to sit, where he was quite content. ‘Ah! That’s better.’

Left hanging, Edward was rather disappointed.

‘Alfred? Didn’t you miss me?’

‘I did! Immensely. But let me catch my breath, my darling. I applaud your vigour, but I rode all the way here on my horse. Ow,’ Alfred revealed with a groan as he massaged his sore thighs.

‘From Windsor Castle!?’

‘From Windsor Castle.’

‘But you must be exhausted,’ Edward pouted and knelt on the carpet before him to ease him out of his boots.

‘I’ll pay the price for it tomorrow, to be sure. But it was the quickest option, otherwise I would have had to spend the night. Sleep? It is but a distant memory!’

‘Why?’ Edward asked as another boot went flying across the room and he massaged Alfred’s ankles.

‘Well, there is a certain dashing private secretary who is not only satisfied to have stolen my heart but now he feels obliged to rob me of my sleep, too!’

‘How horrid of him!’

‘Indeed, I should tell the papers! The Westminster Hero: Exposed.’

‘Is a sleepless night such an awful prospect?’

Alfred was lost for a response to that, especially as there was such fire in Edward’s warm eyes.

‘Let me make it up to you. Your feet must be killing you. Or perhaps up here?’ Edward flirted rather obviously, coming up to wedge himself between Alfred’s thighs, which he massaged daringly. That, and the way he kissed Alfred’s bared neck were almost too much. Passion flared up easily between them. Alfred felt foolish for his earlier resolutions: one hardly needed to ask Edward about what he wanted, it was clear enough as he was easing his lover on the bed.

‘I do have news for you,’ Alfred stopped him, swinging back, though he would have liked nothing better than to give in. ‘I have spoken to my parents about your predicament. Don’t you want to know about it?’

‘Oh? Did you tell them it was about me?’ Edward asked, compelled to focus. Somewhat.

‘It wasn’t hard to guess.’

‘Did they say I was a dreadful scoundrel who deserves a ruin of his own making?’

‘Not at all,’ Alfred reassured him and brought his hand up to Edward’s face. ‘They see that it is wiser to get out of it before it is too late, for both parties. They are in support of you, fear not. But they impressed upon me the gravity of the situation.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Well, naturally, Papa suggested a duel.’

‘I beg your—?’

‘Mama, on the contrary, says you should have an honest heart-to-heart with your fiancée, exactly as you said. I don’t know about you, but in your condition, I should start with the chat and resort to a duel only if absolutely necessary. That was a joke, by the way. Just to be clear. Don’t go duelling anyone.’

‘I wasn’t planning on it, funnily enough. I shall trust Lady Anglesey, in that case. Women know better, I suppose.’

‘Do I hear Mr Women-are-so-Damn-Emotional speak so?’

‘If I know anything about marital politics, it is that a groom must always do well to be friends with his mother-in-law or he shall sink. Now, where were we?’

Alfred tried to keep his feelings at bay at the fact that Edward had just casually insinuated he thought of Lady Anglesey as a mother-in-law, which means he thought of Alfred as a partner for life. A _husband_. Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to rub this in spoiled little Lady Florence’s face!

…were Edward’s hands inching towards his backside?

Alfred jumped back on his feet.

‘How come you’ve not asked your sister for advice?’ he chatted and lit a cheroot with the bedside table candle to cool off.

‘Oh, she’s… You know what she’s like.’

‘I don’t know much about her, really, only that I will never attempt to send her flowers again. Was she really only sixteen when Lothian’s son proposed?’

‘Where the devil did you learn that?’

‘I met your brother at Windsor. Lieutenant, uh…’

‘You met Berkeley?’

‘Aha.’

‘How did you find him?’

‘Enthusiastic and earnest. Rather like you, only not quite as handsome, though I think Miss Coke shall delight in his uniform,’ Alfred chuckled.

‘Don’t you want to take yours off?’ Edward suggested. ‘Isn’t it _stiff_ on you?’

‘Uh… alright… uh… well…’ he coughed and spluttered at what he was sure was an obvious innuendo.

Edward laughed and came over—any excuse to stand as close as possible, hips touching, hand low on his back, happy to be allowed. He was quite proud: he had never made Alfred so flustered before. More of this and Alfred would surely catch on. He had been waiting for him with a determination all day long. But when he made to steal a drag of his cheroot, Alfred tutted:

‘Uh-uh! You can’t have mine all the time.’

‘Please?’

Powerless against such charm, Alfred lit a second cheroot for his pleasure.

‘Boundaries, Drummond,’ he flirted, forgetting he mustn’t. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he is going to be a Groom-in-Waiting? Or did you not know?’

‘Berkeley? He must have mentioned it in a letter.’

‘I nearly didn’t get away. I did not mean to be rude, but one more minute and he would have compelled me to stay and fall into bed.’

‘My brother!?’

‘He kept ta-ta-talking (excuse me),’ Alfred yawned.

‘Oh,’ Edward relaxed.

‘But it is good he did. He said something odd.’

‘About?’

Alfred still pondered this heavily as he smoked.

‘Lord John’s proposal to your sister. Apparently, they set it up as a staged snub just so they had something with which to press you when you were presented with the option of Florence, which to you came out of nowhere.’

‘I hardly think Lothian wanted his son humiliated or hurt.’

‘No, that was lucky for them, I suppose. Little Miss Charlotte did not simply refuse. She lashed out, or so the story goes. It created an even better pretext than they had imagined. And you fell for it.’

Edward was obviously baffled.

‘If this is true, there need never have been any business around this at all,’ Alfred spelled it out. ‘Your brother believes it was all just to ensure you would comply and marry Florence without being too difficult. This way, you didn’t realise you were stuck in the trap until you were knee-deep in the glue. This way, there was—is—no way to get out of it. Does this sound too incredible to you?’

All this talk of Florence cooled Edward off enough so that he could consider this.

‘I do not believe she is a conniving person,’ he decided.

‘Or perhaps you’re just too kind-hearted to see it.’

‘Truly. Of Lothian, I would believe this in a heartbeat. Perhaps even of the marchioness, who spoiled her only daughter always. But her?’

‘Apparently she has pined for you since you were young. Even while you studied. While you travelled. She did not see you for many years, and yet she remained devoted to you, jealous that you would marry someone else before she got there.’

Alfred suddenly remembered William. Misplaced devotion was a curse of many.

‘So?’ Edward asked.

‘So,’ Alfred sighed. ‘I worry we’re out of options. The easiest release would be Florence walking away, but I don’t see us finding the key to that. She must adore you. Whatever Mama advised, I do not believe you can convince her to give you up.’

‘Not with that attitude.’

‘Well, there is scarcely anything that would put _me_ off you.’

‘Don’t be hasty. I’ve been thinking of repulsion tactics. I have! For example, I could develop an odious habit.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I was thinking when she next calls, I might pick my nose or chew awfully loudly.’

‘Drummond!’ Alfred laughed in embarrassment.

‘I would! Or, let’s see… I could declare I have, in protest, given up bathing until slavery is banned in the States. She shouldn’t want to stand close to me by the wedding day.’

‘God… please do not actually attempt that if you can help it…’

‘Oh, I know! I shall take my Bible and throw it in the fire right in front of her.’

‘Whatever for!?’

‘Why because it may just be the first day of my journey towards becoming a Buddhist monk, starting with shaving my head.’

‘NOT the curls! It’s not worth the curls!’

‘Alright, then, how about I announce that our honeymoon must be cancelled because I am to become a diplomat… in rural Abyssinia?’

‘Still, my dearest, if you told me this, I would follow you blindly. Indeed, if you suggested I jumped off a cliff naked, I would do it. Oh, wait, I believe I once have!’

‘I hardly think Florence’s dedication is that strong.’

‘You never know. What if she has an adventurous spirit?’

‘She’s not Charlotte.’

Alfred got curious again. ‘Is she very fond of your fiancée?’

‘No, not at all. She is rather irritated by her.’

‘Sometimes that is a sign of admiration one way or another.’

‘What are you implying?’ Edward giggled. ‘Believe me, they are certainly not friends. Their interests and aspirations are completely different. Indeed, my sister is the polar opposite of Florence as far as women go. But…’

And then, rather cheekily, he discarded Alfred’s cheroots, forgetting to stump them out in his urgency. He now had both hands free to touch him again. And Alfred’s lips to tease.

‘…I hope you did not ride all the way here on horseback to talk about women.’

He kissed Alfred hotly, who, being worn out, no longer objected in the slightest to going to bed.

However, Edward had no intention of getting under the covers this time. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to feel as much of Alfred’s body as possible. For that purpose, he had to do away with his buttons… and then the more skin he bared, the more there was to touch, to kiss…

‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

‘Slow down, Drummond. Doctor’s orders. You’re…’

‘I am not fragile.’

Alfred grabbed his hands before they wandered places.

‘You are the strongest man I have ever known,’ he told Edward seriously. ‘But I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t mean because of the scar. God knows, you seem well enough to me. But I understand you don’t quite feel at ease at present. I know I have come across as a man of easy virtue, and perhaps there were times I was, but I am not one to push you into anything that you may find uncomfortable. I love you and I’ve waited three years for you. I am content to wait a little more, if that’s what you want, truly.’

Though visibly deflated, Edward retreated obediently.

‘Yes, of course. You’re right…’ he mumbled.

But then, just as Alfred had his guard down, he suddenly tickled him viciously.

‘HuuuUHH!? STOP! Drummond!? Stop, we’ll wake your staff! Stop, God, Edward, really, no—I don’t want to hurt you, Edward, stoooop!!!’

And at that, he finally did stop, right in the middle of the feathery mess they’ve made on the duvet.

‘You called me Edward.’

Alfred, who was flushed and panting, realised that was not untrue.

‘Will you promise not to attack me if I keep it up? My dear Edward?’

‘Well, now you really cannot expect _me_ to be content to keep away from you!’

No, indeed. After that, Edward shook off his dressing gown and gave up all pretence. He touched and kissed Alfred in a way that sent shivers all over his body.

He did not feel like he was rushing into anything. He had all day to think about this. He was also quite heartened by the fact that Alfred had passed a test. Alfred wasn’t getting bored of him, he was urging him to wait, as the doctor had advised. But Edward _was_ tired of waiting and wasting precious time. Life was too short. If there was a risk that the world would fall apart, he wanted to be with Alfred before it did.

‘Edward, we really mustn’t…’ Alfred heard himself say, but he was weakening.

‘Say my name again.’

‘Edward?! Wait, that wasn’t it, I didn’t mean to—'

Edward pulled away, not just as a ruse this time.

‘ _Do_ you want me to stop?’ he asked seriously.

‘Well, we _should_ stop.’

‘But do _you_ want to?’

Alfred was already suffering from being deprived of Edward’s touch for a few short seconds. Who was he kidding? Edward was fine. He had also spent the evening chasing Alfred around the room, trying to get under his uniform like an antsy adolescent. Nobody was pushing anyone into anything.

‘No,’ he admitted with a grin.

Edward smiled, too, moving to dive back into it.

‘Only,’ he stopped to ask, just, ‘The doctor won’t be able to tell I’ve done this, will he?’

Alfred kept from laughing at that. But then, he had not been born all-knowing either.

‘I don’t believe so,’ he reassured Edward.

‘Oh, good!’

Well, then, there was nothing to stand in the way of resuming things. Edward swiftly undid loads more buttons on Alfred, while he in turn was tugging impatiently on his last remaining enemy, the billowy nightshirt.

Lost in the heat of their embrace among tangled sheets, they were ignorant to the sounds of the carriage that had pulled up in the moonlit street, and even to Horace’s disquiet. The subsequent knocks on the front door were harsh and unforgiving, however, and they cut like a frozen dagger through the heated night.

They fled apart at once. Edward went to the window, irrationally worried someone had, by some divine talent, sensed they were too happy in there and called the police on them. He peeked through the shutters just enough to check and saw a sight that was almost worse.

‘It’s a Lothian carriage,’ he ascertained with dread.

‘Florence!?’ Alfred feared.

‘At this hour?’

‘But who else could it be?’

Alfred fell silent as they heard the marquess’s demands to be let in. They heard the butler rush all the way down from the attic and open the door to tell him his regular line that Mr Drummond was not receiving visitors, certainly not well past midnight.

‘He shall receive me,’ Lothian simply declared and pushed past the servant.

‘Sir! Sir! My lord!’

‘Lord Lothian? What is the meaning of this!? How dare you—’ Charlotte could also be heard from the stairs where she went to see what this ruckus was about.

‘Stand aside.’

‘You stand aside. Out there. Out. Now.’

‘Make way.’

‘ _Leave_ or I shall call the police—HEY!’

‘What do I do!?’ Alfred panicked upstairs.

‘Bathroom,’ Edward instructed him with a surprisingly clear mind even while scrambling to fix the bed and get in as if nothing had been amiss. ‘It opens to the hallway too, that’s your way out.’

‘I won’t leave you. I said I’d stand by you.’

‘You stand by me by hiding. Trust me, just go, quickly!’ Edward urged him for the footsteps of the marquess were approaching fast. ‘I’ll be fine. Really.’

Alfred didn’t like this at all, but he did as told. He only had time to grab his boots and disappear into the bathroom adjacent to Edward’s bedroom just before he could be spotted by the marquess entering. And he made damn sure not to make a single squeak.

Lord Lothian was an impressive man in stature and influence. His glassy eyes and his height were part of it, but his dark cloak and angular hat reinforced the message that this was not someone to be messed with. He had not arrived alone. Behind him, another man stood carrying a leather handbag and a permanent expression of smelling something bad. Or was it a nose that looked broken in? Edward remembered now. The loiterer from the street.

‘Lord Lothian!’ Charlotte was still saying at his heels. ‘This is unacceptable—pushing in, pushing past me, at this hour—Edward needs his rest, I must insist you leave this house at once—’

Lothian slammed the door on the young woman as if she were nothing. Her bravado only fuelled by this, she attempted to push in anyway without hesitation, but Lothian shut her out again and turned the key for good measure this time. Permission? He was not in the habit of asking for it. She could keep banging on the door all night for all he cared.

‘Drummond,’ he greeted Edward drily and nodded to his mercenary. ‘That’s him. Begin.’

‘Excuse me?!’ Edward exclaimed with dread. ‘Do you know what time it is?!’

‘I do, which is why I would prefer to complete this quickly.’

‘But what is it that you’ve come to do!?’ Edward demanded, clutching the covers tighter in his horror at the leather bag that contained a medic’s tools.

‘Doctor Vauxhall will perform a routine examination. Nothing invasive, no need to be a child about it, Drummond.’

‘But I’ve got a doctor!’ he objected, yanking his arm away when the supposed doctor. ‘One who comes in the daylight!’

‘Yes, Bernstein, is it?’ the marquess scoffed. ‘I received his letter.’

‘So, you know the facts already. There is no need for this.’

‘Your family physician, a doctor best with common colds and summer allergies, is hardly able to be the judge of whether your condition will have improved enough for the wedding to go ahead. And it will go ahead unless there is convincing evidence to the contrary. Dr Vauxhall here will be able to determine whether there is.’

‘I do not believe for a second that this man is a doctor.’

‘Of course he is. He is a trained surgeon in Harley Street.’

‘I do not care if he is from the Moon, I will not let him touch me.’

‘Why, your colour and the fervour with which you are capable of addressing me leave me optimistic already. Perhaps we can keep the date after all. Agreed?’

Edward could not bring himself to consent to this. Not again.

‘Dr Bernstein was clear,’ he persisted. ‘I will not be recovered by the fourteenth.’

‘Let’s have a second opinion, shall we?’

Vauxhall moved yet closer and Edward clung to his sheets like a shield.

‘WITH RESPECT, my lord,’ Edward reasoned through gritted teeth, ‘you are a powerful man, but even you cannot perform miracles. I wish more than anyone that I were recovered, surely you cannot dispute that. I am not one to be confined to my bed unless I have a damned good reason. And I do. So leave me be.’

‘Vauxhall,’ Lothian instructed as if he had not heard this at all. His man approached the bed. ‘If it truly be that you are too weak to go to the church on the agreed date, surely, the surgeon shall come to this conclusion in a matter of minutes. Or have you something to hide?’

Intimidated by the Marquess and not wanting to dig himself into an even deeper hole, Edward had little choice but to allow for this to happen.

_To hell with this_ , Alfred thought and rushed to the hallway through the bathroom to tell Charlotte what he’d just heard word for word.

‘I must go in and stop this,’ he said, shaking from anger.

‘Well, you can’t,’ she declared at once, though she was just as horrified.

‘I must.’

‘Are you mad? You’re not supposed to be here!’

‘Nor is he!’

‘Stop, stop, you can’t,’ Charlotte insisted and even laid her hands on his shoulders to physically hold him back.

‘I’ll kill him. He touches Edward and I’ll kill him myself!’

‘Lord Alfred, some decorum, please.’

‘Let. Me. Go. In.’

‘Shh! I too wish more than you think that I could prevail upon you to grab that loathsome man and throw him out whole, but sadly, I cannot.’

‘But he’s… but he’s…’ Alfred spluttered, succumbing to panic completely. ‘You realise Edward’s doing this for you.’

She unhanded him. ‘How do you mean?’

‘He does not love her and never will! You can’t make him!’

‘Make him?’

‘He won’t love her, you can’t make him marry her just because you… You _cannot_.'

There it was, that passion that Charlotte mistook for a theatrical display before she was reassured of Lord Alfred’s friendship. An affectionate, passionate friendship indeed. She realised the man’s coat and shirt were obscenely unbuttoned and his tie was nowhere to be found.

And then it finally clicked. How could she have been so blind?

‘Of course… of course not…’ she uttered, the realisation hitting her like a ton of bricks. ‘You really do care for my brother… you…’

‘He cannot hurt him.’

‘Right… you…’

Charlotte desperately tried to think.

‘You must leave,’ she concluded. ‘You cannot be seen here tonight. For your own good.’

‘But Edward’s in there, I must—’

She grabbed hold of his sleeves before he barged in through the bathroom like a madman.

‘That horse on the pavement, fastened to the railings,’ she said. ‘That’s yours, is it not?’

‘It is.’

‘Then use it. Go somewhere where people can see you and then go home. Breakfast with people, show your face, act like normal. Wait for my note in the morning before you come. I shan’t fail to send you one as soon as I can. I promise.’

Alfred was torn between the door behind which Lothian was terrorising Edward and her advice that, he had to admit, was exceptionally sound, though counterintuitive.

‘If you really care for him, my lord,’ she impressed upon him seriously. ‘Go.’

Alfred didn’t have it in himself to deny anything. She had been so callous and protective of her brother. She could have been simply saying this to kick him out. However, he had little choice but to trust her.

‘I… I had a tie.’

‘Take mine, my lord,’ Wood offered.

An emergency exposed the distinction between a good and an excellent butler. This act of charity was even quite touching. Alfred accepted the simple black necktie.

‘Truce?’ he asked of Charlotte.

‘Peace,’ she raised him. ‘Go.’

Submitting to the facts, he left the house.

‘Satisfied?’ Edward demanded when the surgeon had finished prodding and touching him.

He felt somewhat violated even though he had only suffered the discomfort of a superficial examination, which, curiously, had nothing to do with the area affected by the bullet. His pulse was fine, his eyesight was fine, and his blood pressure was within the normal range even despite the marquess’ presence.

But this was not really to establish his wellbeing. This was a threat.

‘Extremely satisfied, I am glad to say,’ Lothian declared, having received a simple nod from the surgeon. ‘You will marry Florence on the fourteenth, as planned. Feel free to postpone your travels if you must, but I would recommend doing so by no more than two weeks, else the weather will have turned disagreeable. I want only the best for my daughter. Now. If you attempt anything else, Drummond…’

The marquess did not finish the sentence because he did not need to.

‘Florence will be back with samples for the wallpaper tomorrow. Should she be turned away, I shall know,’ he said but before he left, something caught his eye.

The ashtray that held two freshly finished cheroots. Interesting.

‘It does reek of these inferior cigarillos in here,’ he taunted. ‘Particularly those that are popular amongst, I think, the equerries of the court?’

Edward remembered Lothian or his man must have been lurking around his house and may very well have seen Alfred enter. His horse and the uniform would have been tell-tale signs of exactly who and what Lord Alfred was. Even if Lothian had not understood just what exactly there was between the men, Alfred had been a visitor while Florence had been told there were to be none received in this house. Worst of all, the marquess flicked something aside with the tip of his boots, too.

Alfred’s cravat. Thrown and left on the carpet.

He inclined for Vauxhall to check the bathroom, but by this time it was empty. There were, however, sounds of hooves scurrying away in the rain. The marquess’s mouth curled into a cruel smile.

With a sinking heart, Edward was sorely reminded, thus, that though they had been careful, nothing got past the menacing marquess.

‘I changed my mind. Things are far worse in here than I thought. I suggest you spend the entire winter in Italy, far from distractions,’ Lothian droned. ‘You might also want to control that unruly sister of yours, if she is to stay in residence when Florence runs this house. Her studio shall make a fine salon for Florence or better yet, a nursery. Then, with your sister’s record of violence, a room may be a better fit for her in whatever institution that will have that lunatic assassin of yours.’

‘You vile—!’ Edward bit his tongue because what he wanted to say was anything but gentlemanly. There was enough damage done.

It was all the willpower Charlotte had not to spit at his feet as Lothian and his mercenary swept out of the bedroom and exited the house. She meant to offer comfort, but Edward turned his back on her and buried himself under his sheets to sulk. She understood he needed to be left alone and closed the door on him gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berkeley Drummond was indeed a Groom-in-Waiting at Queen Victoria's court when the assassination happened. No idea why Edward had to be the love interest but I guess it's not a period drama without a dead gay character, eh? While this chapter was tense (sorry), I am not in the habit of writing THAT. #stillnotoverit
> 
> You know what, Charles Dance for Lothian. Nuff said. I love him but he looks scary.


	13. Safe Travels for Newlyweds in the Cold Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Alfred takes care that he has an alibi, but he can hardly hope for a good night's fretting alone at home. Could his old friend's obnoxious wildness be just the solution against Lothian?

“ _… our readership may change their mind about saving the date for the warm season. Given the advantageous climate, the countries of the Mediterranean remain popular honeymoon destinations of the fashionable classes, including the luckiest man in London and his even luckier fiancée, Mr Edward Drummond and Lady Florence Kerr, who plan on spending a month in Italy after their fast-approaching wedding. We recommend sea travel for a quicker passage unless either the bride or the groom are prone to sea-sickness, which may prove to be a rockier start of the marriage than a lengthy train passage on land_.”

Alfred was amazed at his own willpower, too. He wished to stay and protect Edward with his own body if need be, but what he did instead was to leave his horse at the royal mews and to call at his club no more than to show his face and down a couple of whiskeys. He then made his way home to his parent’s townhouse, not quite at dawn, for a change.

His valet let him in from the torrential rain as if he had been expecting him. This could not be good. Lord Alfred was already on edge and this was irregular.

‘Wilson? Is something amiss?’

‘Not so, my lord,’ the valet replied, taking the lord’s dripping wet hat and coat. ‘Only, you’ve got a visitor. No, not downstairs. In your room. It’s…’

‘No need to explain. I know what this’ll be,’ Alfred grumbled and made for his bedroom with haste.

In there, he found neither another crony of Lothian’s, nor the blissful privacy that would have allowed him to shed his stiff, damp clothes and rage and cry as he so ached to, but a friend’s company, a friend who had discarded his own navy uniform entirely, all layers of it, and made himself comfortable on the bed.

‘Alfred! At last,’ William said with a naughty smirk.

Why wasn't Alfred surprised?

‘Are you out of your mind!?’ he whispered in anger, though. ‘How did you—when—why—I mean—’

‘I wasn’t seen. Do you take me for an amateur, darling?’

‘My valet—’

‘Except by him. Oops. But Wilson’s alright, isn’t he?’

Alfred vexedly sniffed the air. ‘Does my room seem like an opium den to you?’

‘You took your time, I got bored.’

‘Oh, you incorrigible scoundrel!’ Alfred huffed and opened up a window before unceremoniously throwing his dressing gown at William.

‘What?’

‘Just put your… your… _yourself_ away at once!’

The roguish captain begrudgingly covered up and approached.

‘Crikey, Alfred, I thought you’d have a laugh. I thought you’d be pleased!’

‘I shall be pleased when I’ve had a drop of—’

A large brandy was thrust into Alfred’s hand before he finished the sentence. Fine, Will still had his uses.

‘What’s this thusness, Alfred?’ he asked. ‘Why are you not keen on me? You haven’t come down with something, have you?’

Alfred swatted Will’s hand away from his forehead.

‘By God, it’s not something to do with your…’ Will pried rather more insolently, pointing at his nether regions. ‘Have you been naughty in my absence, Lord Alfred Paget?’

‘What?!’

‘If you have, you must tell me. Some of those illnesses are impossible to cure, you know. Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, we’ll just have to get creative.’

Alfred was nearly sick in his mouth, but he stated, ‘I am not sick in any way, least of all that area.’

‘Good, because I have no intention of losing my favourite body part to some horrid malady, not even for your charms, darling.’

‘Please,’ Alfred scoffed through his headache coming on. ‘If anyone ought to worry about that, it would be you.’

‘I refute that. I always begin a new affair with a good D-check.’

‘Disease check?’

‘…sure, why not.’

Alfred flung himself into an armchair and massaged his temples.

‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he said.

‘You have. Really, Alfred. If you’re fine, why don’t you want me? And don’t say you’re busy because that’s never been a reason.’

‘For the last time, I am alright, William, only... I have a life here, you know. I am glad you are back in one piece, of course, I am. But I can’t do this anymore, not like we used to. And I’m a trifle preoccupied, as it happens.’

‘Oh? Has something bad happened?’

‘The worst.’

‘Did someone die?’

‘Worse. I am… I am in love.’

William cracked up. ‘Ah, I see! You are not sick you have simply gone insane.’

‘I really am. There is no denying it. I am completely and helplessly in love.’

‘Really?’ William uttered with an anxious little cough, which he remedied with a good helping of brandy for himself. ‘Well, uh, Alfred, I… I am flattered, but, uh… my circumstances remain…’

‘Not with you, you imbecile!’

‘Oh. Alright. Ouch, but alright,’ Will said, finding it took some effort to mask what felt dangerously like disappointment, but he perished the thought for his curiosity was more pressing. ‘With whom, then?’

‘With—ah, I cannot tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t.’

‘Is it because it’s a woman!?’

‘No!’

‘Then why?’

‘You should go now.’

‘Oh, teeell meee!!!’

‘Shh!’

‘Please?’

‘No, it would be most unwise.’

‘Well, now you absolutely must!’

Alfred turned away the more Will crouched down to pout at him and wheedle it out of him.

‘…Alfred? If you don’t tell me, I’ll throw off this robe and do what we did in Paris.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Wouldn’t I?’

‘There is no balcony.’

‘That won’t stop me.’

‘Trust me, you’re better off not knowing.’

‘Alright, the robe’s coming off—'

‘It’s your father’s secretary, alright?’ Alfred confessed, grabbing his wrist. A repeat of Paris was to be avoided at all costs.

Will pulled a disgusted face. ‘Stephenson? That four-eyed little weasel?’

‘Not him! And don’t be so mean,’ Alfred chastised him. ‘He is called Drummond. Edward Drummond. The senior secretary. Happy? And he is not a four-eyed anything, don’t be so unkind about everyone around Sir Robert. No, he is…’

‘Beautiful,’ William finished and Alfred’s eyes went wide with panic.

‘You’ve seen him? You can’t have. He’s not left his house for weeks.’

William remembered a day he hadn’t thought of in years:

‘Oh, but I have met him. I met him ages ago. In fact, I dined with him once. Just the two of us.'

Alfred gulped and when William meant to drink again, he grabbed his glass and took it away from him. Edward did mention something, someone who propositioned him once. No. No way. No, no, no, no, no!

He would not give the glass back until William told him everything.

‘It was before I set sail to America, not long after he had started working for father…’

_1843, the House of Commons_

_Edward was rushing down the hallway. Why did he let the Duke carry on for so long about the importance of strategic trade routes to the Argentine? He dreaded to think what his new superior Sir Robert’s reaction would be if he showed up late to the office._

_When he stepped in, he was privy to a rather heated argument behind the Prime Minister’s closed door._

_‘…BUT WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS OTHER THAN MILEAGE!?’_

_‘TO MAKE DAMN SURE YOU STAY AS FAR AWAY FROM US AS GEOGRAPHICALLY POSSIBLE.’_

_‘FINALLY, WE DESIRE THE SAME THING! WHY DON’T YOU BUGGER OFF FOR ONCE?’_

_‘IF YOU DARE SHOW YOUR FACE AGAIN IN THESE HALLS—’_

_‘FEAR NOT, I HAVE NO INTENTION OF HAVING ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS PLACE EVER AGAIN.’_

_Edward was caught off guard. He was still standing awkwardly in the doorway when a young man stormed out of Sir Robert’s office. The man was, and there is no way to do it justice, stunningly handsome. This, Edward noted even though his day was packed with rather important tasks, and even though he was fretting about being late and about Sir Robert having had an uncharacteristically savage argument with whomever this person was._

_Still. That hair. Those dark, fiery eyes still burning from the heat of the argument._

_Edward remembered he ought to be on the PM’s side. He put on his serious face._

_‘May I show you the way out, sir?’ he said as icily as he could, though he was clinging onto his trusty folder like a child to his toy._

_After all, a man who allowed himself to take that outrageous tone with Sir Robert Peel was not to be messed with. However, he had no harsh words for the secretary._

_‘You can show me anything,’ he said with the lewd wildness of a man who had nothing left to lose._

_Edward went red, willing himself not to be flattered. He stepped aside and indicated the door._

_‘Please, leave.’_

_‘After you. The front is to my liking, I wonder if the back matches it,’ the man flirted with a wink._

_‘Sir, I must ask you to—!’_

_But before Edward could try out his serious voice to match his face, the Duke of Wellington came in:_

_‘Just one more thing, Drummond, if you’ve a moment—ah, Sir William! Capital! How was Syria?’_

_To Edward’s astonishment, this man who had just riled up the PM could accept a handshake from the Duke._

_‘It wasn’t easy, sir, but we go there in the end,’ William replied, dropping his flirtatious tone from one second to the next like this sort of pretence was second nature to him._

_‘Did you get to explore?’_

_‘Did we indeed! I brought home three orange trees for my mother. She was thrilled. Papa, not so much, but then he never is when it comes to me,’ Sir William said with a heavy glance at the PM’s door now shut tightly once again. He caught Edward’s eyes, which were not so hard now that he realised this man was Sir Robert’s own son. ‘Well, I had better take my leave, as he so passionately desires. Good day, gentlemen.’_

_The Duke was then received by the PM. Edward felt like a colossal idiot. He rushed down the hallway to catch the lieutenant._

_‘Sir—Sir William!’ he called, bearing him to stop for him and listen. ‘Forgive me, I had no idea. I’m new, just started last week, I apologise for my… my…’_

_William was brought to a handsome smile. ‘Don’t stop now. You’re doing well.’_

_‘I… Well… I…’_

_‘How about dinner tonight?’ Will suggested bluntly._

_‘Dinner?’_

_‘Yes, it is an occasion in the late hours of the day where people are helped to some meals and drinks and if they are lucky, conversation. How about it?’_

_‘Just the two of us, you mean?’_

_‘Why not?’_

_‘Oughtn’t your father join us…?’_

_‘I have not sat at the same table as him since I was twelve years old and I do not intend to break this habit. I can, however, give you some pointers if you’re going to work for him. Come find me at Ciro’s at eight. Do you know it? It’s in Covent Garden. It’s new. Like you, uh…?’_

_‘Drummond. Edward Drummond.’_

_‘Drummond,’ William repeated delightedly…_

‘…and he accepted.’

‘By God, William!’ Alfred groaned as he listened to this.

He had swapped places with William since he had begun to tell the story of that night. He couldn’t bear the thought of this, so he paced and paced and paced, and drank, and paced some more. Meanwhile, William made himself perfectly comfortable in Alfred’s armchair, still wearing Alfred’s robe, and snacking on a bunch of grapes.

‘I am not finished, don’t get your breeches in a twist,’ he said with a chuckle.

Alfred’s eyes shot daggers. ‘Go on, then.’

‘At your own peril.’

Alfred gulped. William had no motive to lie. Edward claimed to be a novice but then he had also been more than ready dance the pants off Alfred earlier. Perhaps he had not told him the whole truth.

‘Just… just hit me.’

‘Very well, darling.’ Will threw a grape high up in the air and caught it in his mouth. ‘So, we’re at the restaurant…’

_Edward had never been so uncomfortable in his life. He felt like every pair of eyes were on him._

_‘Is it usually this crowded in this place?’ he asked._

_William had a waiter top up their champagne._

_‘Everyone’s gagging to try the menu, I suppose,’ Will shrugged. ‘I forget how dull life is on land sometimes.’_

_‘Surely, not duller than a small cabin and a damp deck for months on end.’_

_‘When one’s shelter is hardly more than the Moon and the stars, the elements make one’s days interesting enough, to be sure. What does this crowd say in comparison? We might as well be in any one of the great European cities. People are so universally similar when Society is concerned. One new restaurant and urbanites go wild, no different from the tribes of the colonies when they’ve managed to catch a beast. Well, when in Rome… here’s to our feast.’_

_‘This may be Covent Garden but I hardly think we are like the savages—’_

_‘Don’t call them that,’ William cut in firmly but never losing his charm. ‘The natives of those remote lands are no more savage than those who sit on the benches of the Houses of Parliament, including and perhaps the worst of all, my own dear Papa. Here is tip number one. Never let the glamour and gilt of it, or that of the Palace, for that matter, sway you from that fact.’_

_Although he held Sir Robert in high regard, Drummond felt too much of a novice to debate the lieutenant. His dinner partner was a travelled man, whereas he was barely out of university and had only assisted the Duke yet. He was brilliant, but he was sailing so high up so early because of the confidence invested in him rather than experience to show for it. Faking it was as important as the actual work, if not more._

_‘You sound so confident, sir. I wonder where exactly you have become so wise.’_

_William flashed him a winning smile. ‘I have seen many wonders of the world. Wonders and disasters. If there is one thing that I have learned is that I can never learn enough. That, and that the greatest sin is to waste time.’_

_‘But you are still young, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.’_

_‘I had experienced a battlefield before I was sixteen. I swore early on never to miss out on anything life can offer before a bullet gets me.’_

_‘What about biding one’s time for security? Surely, that is one strategy.’_

_‘I’m afraid caution has never been my forte.’_

_‘It has mine.’_

_William laughed out loud. Edward was less free to join him._

_He had to admit he was being taken in by the lieutenant’s looks, but he would indeed never be as free as him, not as long as he had to play along with the whole Lady Florence thing, which he hoped would not get out of hand. He had come to reluctant terms with his proclivities. But he was not going to do anything about it. He would never dare to. He would be content alone, with his pens and papers._

_As the evening continued, he learned a great deal about Sir Robert indeed, which he scribbled dutifully down in a notebook, but they didn’t stay for dessert. William insisted on giving Drummond a ride. They sat in silence in the darkened cab, Edward watching the streets of London passing by their window, William watching him._

_‘Are you always this serious, Mr Drummond?’_

_Edward looked down at his hands, bound in their gloves. However wealthy, however successful he became, he would remain thus. Bound._

_‘I enjoyed the evening, sir,’ he said diplomatically. ‘For a couple of hours, you made me feel as if I have seen the stars over the desert and tasted the flavours of the east myself. I thank you for that. And for all the advice. And thank you for allowing me to apologise properly for my earlier blunder.’_

_‘Thank you for allowing me to take you out,’ William replied, no cheek in his tone for one. But then, his lips curled into a mischievous smile. ‘And here we are.’_

_Edward looked out the window again and frowned. ‘But this is not my address.’_

_‘No? How odd!’ William replied transparently._

_Edward had thought he was alarmed during dinner. That was nothing in comparison to when William placed his hand on his knee. Before he could even think of a believable manner in which any other man would have reacted, he was already too late. The fact he did not immediately swat his hand away or something…_

_‘I’ve the royal suite,’ William said, probably glad he hadn’t earned a punch in the face. ‘Care to join me for dessert?’_

_Edward didn’t dare imagine what that meant and he did not ask. Though he had given himself away, he politely removed the lieutenant’s hand._

_‘Ah,’ Will sighed. ‘Forgive me. One hopes.’_

_‘I do forgive you, I just… I fear the savages.’_

_‘Fair enough. But, if I may say so, you are too delightful to live in fear forever. You strike me as a racing man. Rowing or something? Those arms… There. You might think you cannot lose if you don’t run. Alas, the sad truth is, those who don’t run lose by default and lose worse than all for they miss out altogether, both on the joys that marvellously enrich us and the pains that invaluably teach us. Are you prepared to miss out, Mr Drummond?’_

_Edward was definitely not tempted enough to change his mind that evening, but it felt nice to be offered. He smiled but he shook his head to decline._

_‘Damn,' Will laughed, leaning back in his seat. 'We may not be racing but you’d have been a fine prize.’_

_‘A prize idiot, rather,’ Edward berated himself now that the jig was up. ‘I did not mean to lead you on.’_

_‘You should have more faith in what you want. You cannot imagine how sorry I am that my invitation fell short. I mean it, just one word and you are welcome in my suite.’_

_‘I… I really cannot.’_

_‘I didn’t say whether you can or cannot. I said you wanted it. And that makes all the difference,’ William said and with that, he accepted the end of the night and got out of the cab. Before he left, he leaned in the door for just one last thing: ‘When you do find someone, someone who does compel you to throw caution to the wind, promise me, my friend, that you will run. Just run.’_

_‘Away or into their arms?’_

_William did not reply. With a flash of a secretive smile, he shut the door, tapped the side of the cab, and watched it go._

‘…of course, I wasn’t alone by the time I reached my suite,’ Will added.

‘Honestly, Will, you are incorrigible,’ Alfred told him in the present, three whole years and a lot of growing up later. On his part, not necessarily that of the captain.

He had stopped pacing around his room. He had never been so relieved as when he learned that Edward had not ended up visiting William’s hotel rooms that night, or on any other night. No, admittedly, his Edward was not experienced. He was, however, potentially being threatened by Lothian. Unfortunately, Alfred was stuck at home for now.

‘Don’t worry,’ William said, mistaking Alfred’s anxiety for concern about him in the story. ‘It wasn’t rented company I had upstairs. You know I don’t do that.’

Alfred scoffed.

‘…anymore,’ Will admitted. ‘But that night, my companion was one of the finest men of London. The finest, indeed.’

‘Who?’

William did not break eye contact, and after a moment, Alfred was horrified to understand.

‘I was waiting for you in the hotel that night!’ he realised with dread. ‘I _was_ the dessert!’

‘Who else, darling? There's no one else than you. In England. Do you not recall what I said that night?’

‘I don’t recall much talking from any of our nights.’

‘Try.’

Alfred gasped in horror. ‘Oh, good grief, was it…? Oh, dear.’

‘You do remember!’ Will laughed so loudly he shushed himself. ‘You were so cross I made you wait!’

‘I was. It was so late. The foyer had almost emptied, it was getting dangerous for me to linger.’

‘You cheered up as soon as I said I left a rendezvous to come to you.’

‘And I asked what would have happened if your guest had taken up your offer.’

‘To which I replied…’

‘“The more the merrier.”’

‘And I meant it, too,’ Will shrugged. ‘It’s not my fault he declined.’

‘Oh, you absolute…’ Alfred had no words for this.

He kicked Will out of his armchair so he could fling back into it and sip his drink, all the while mentally thanking the heavens for Edward’s wholesome chastity that night. Otherwise, instead of a slow-burning romance after meeting in the elegant milieu of the military parade at the Palace, they would have done so under extremely different circumstances. How would he ever explain this to Edward?

‘He _is_ very beautiful,’ Will gave it to him.

‘He is. Inside and out.’

‘And does he know you think he’s beautiful?’

‘Oh, he does.’

‘Wait, so, Papa’s right-hand man is game? No more of that silly cautiousness of his?’

Alfred sat up. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he warned.

Will was already miles away. ‘This visit might still be fun!’

‘William. No. I’m _begging_ you.’

‘Don’t worry, you can have the cake… I just want a slice.’

‘No.’

‘A cherry from the top.’

‘Will.’

‘A lick of whipped cream.’

‘You’re sailing perilously close to being called out for a duel.’

William was thoroughly amused and laughing like a naughty schoolboy. Alfred, however, was not so easily lightened up.

‘Darling, what’s the matter?’ Will asked. ‘You say you’re in love. You say he is willing. What’s the problem?’

‘Have you not read the papers since you pulled in at Southampton?’

‘I spend enough time reading in my cabin.’

Alfred heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Alas. He’s engaged.’

‘So?’

‘He’s engaged to the Marquess of Lothian’s daughter to be married in a fortnight.’

‘Oh. Bollocks.’

‘Quite. He means to break it off.’

‘Famous last words.’

‘He really does!’

‘…again, said by many a lover on the side since time immemorial.’

‘Oh, stop it, don’t say that,’ Alfred said, and to his shame, he started crying. Will crouched down at his feet in a flurry of apologies, of course, but it hardly helped the frustration.

‘Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, Alfred, stop—fuck, I’m an idiot. It’s just my big mouth, you mustn’t take me seriously. I never do!’ Will pleaded. ‘Damn. They do say love really softens one.’

‘He didn’t do this. You did. You were just never around long enough to see it.’

Will hang his head guiltily.

‘You’re right, though,’ Alfred said, getting a grip. ‘I should grow a thicker skin. There’ll be a scandal of an unprecedented magnitude not only because the father-in-law is the most frightening man in the city. Drummond’s become rather famous of late.’

‘For what?’

‘For saving your father’s life.’

Alfred told him about the whole frightful incident. When he finished, Will gave a low whistle.

‘Seems life on land isn’t quite so boring!’

‘So, you see now? Even if the bride can be convinced to back out, which I doubt she'll do, her father will come for him and everyone he cares for. You had better stay away from me, too, in fact.’

‘I can look after myself, darling. After all the things I’ve survived, Lothian hardly makes me piss my breeches! So cheer up, hm?’

Alfred just groaned, his head positively splitting, and his heart aching for the man he loved.

‘A fortnight, you said?’ William thought aloud.

‘Hm. Well, less, the fourteenth, to be precise.’

‘Interesting. That’s when I sail on from England.’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘It might just do everything.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Land ho! Well, he's a sea ho, really, or indeed a ho anywhere. Proudly, probably. Heh. Apologies to the real Will Peel, who was probably a nice boy. He did, however, bring back 3 orange trees from Syria for his mother, who was a keen gardener.   
>  (Source: http://www.rogersstudy.co.uk/peel/peel1.html)


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